


we both go down together

by dustofwarfare, MxTicketyBoo



Series: Imperative [6]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, CF!Route, Collars, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route Spoilers, Kink, M/M, Minor Background Relationships, Post-Black Eagles Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Voyeurism, biological imperative kink, dom!Yuri, sub!Ashe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:01:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24592699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustofwarfare/pseuds/dustofwarfare, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MxTicketyBoo/pseuds/MxTicketyBoo
Summary: Ashe watches from the corner of his eye as Yuri takes a seat and crosses his legs, as casual as anything.“I have a proposition for you,” Yuri says, lacing his fingers over his knee.Ashe eases closer and openly scrutinizes him. He can’t keep the suspicion from his expression, and he doesn’t bother trying very hard. “What sort of proposition?”Yuri asks Ashe to pose as his collared submissive on a trip to Almyra, to meet the new king and see where his loyalties lie.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc
Series: Imperative [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654516
Comments: 58
Kudos: 166
Collections: DS-Verse FE3H Fics





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the Imperative-verse, specifically relating to the post-CF route version, [Won't Go Down Easy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23020399) and happens about a year later. Co-written with Mxticketyboo! 
> 
> As always, this entire 'verse is predicated on the idea that everyone is biologically a sub or a dom. It's fantasy kink, and not intended to be non-consensual or even dub-con, but if you're sensitive to that, please take care in reading. Thank you! 
> 
> Title from the Decemberists song of the same name!

It’s raining in Enbarr. 

Yuri shoves his hands in his pockets as his boots click on the slick cobbled streets, the hood of his cloak starting to become heavy with water. People are beginning to thin out, heading for the warm, brightly-lit taverns and brothels that line the streets in this part of the capital city. Edelgard and her empire might be changing the world, but it will take more than a war to change humanity’s tendency to make basic needs transactional; sex, dominance, submission, food, you name it, someone’s selling it. 

The tavern he wants is at the end of the block, with a sign that proclaimed it the _Eagle’s Nest_. It’s the third one Yuri’s visited on this attempt to locate his quarry, because naming things Eagle-this and Eagle-that became very popular after the war; Edelgard might be espousing freedom from the tyranny of the nobility, but nationalism needs no emperor to flourish. And besides. She’s still the Emperor. 

Yuri has about as much faith in her new government as he did in the old one; corruption runs too deep alongside power, there’s just no way to separate the two. If Dimitri and the Church won, this bar would have been renamed The Lion’s Den or something and everything would have been blue, not red. 

Tomato, tomahto, whatever, whatever.

Yuri pushes the door open, and the tavern is busy already; cheerful and warm, with a brightly-lit fire to drive off the lingering wetness and humid enough that his hair might start curling at the ends if he stays in here too long. He shrugs out of his coat and flashes a wink and a smile at the girl who takes it from him, passing over a few coins to make sure he gets it back. It doesn’t look like much on the outside, but he’s added hidden pockets and made other adjustments to it over the years, so that he’d prefer not to have to hunt some drunk veteran down and coerce it off his back. 

“Thanks for keeping that safe, dove,” he says to the girl, giving a little hint of dominance, just a tease so she doesn’t think he’s angling for something other than a little vigilance on behalf of his outwear. 

She blushes and ducks her head, gaze lowering, and maybe it’s a bit of an act or maybe it’s real, he doesn’t much care. A quick scan shows there’s no one here matching his quarry’s description, but he can also hear the rain outside as it begins to lash the copper roof so maybe a pint and a bit of dinner wouldn’t go amiss. 

He slides into a seat at the bar -- best place to overhear all the best gossip -- and tries not to laugh when he sees the tavern’s former name is still etched on the fancy carved sign hanging above the taps. _Adrestian Flare_. That’s a weird name for a tavern, but it’s more memorable than _Eagle’s Nest_. “Why’d you change it?” Yuri asks the barkeep, nodding at the sign. 

The man has a thick leather collar with a bright red loop. He rolls his eyes. “My dominant’s suggestion. Thought it’d be better for business.” 

“Is it?” 

He shrugs. “You know what’s good for business? Winning a war. Thirsty soldiers. People who don’t chatter at me without paying,” he adds, darkly. 

Yuri raises one eyebrow and says, “Fish and chips and an ale.” 

The man looks briefly startled. Yuri’s practiced keeping his dominant instincts in check, only because he doesn’t like the idea that someone would know something about him simply by the way he orders his bar food or asks a mindless question about a sign. The way he looks sometimes startles them, dominants who expect him to obey and submissives who think he’s one of them. 

As if this is anything but random, this odd natural inclination to obey or be obeyed. Yuri dislikes anything that’s set in stone, even his own nature. If he can play with, use other people’s misconceptions to his advantage, well…

“This is the place I was looking for, then,” Yuri says, the same thing he’s said at two, three other taverns as he tracks down bits and pieces Balthus’s advice. “I’m looking for someone.” 

“Uh-huh. Ain’t we all,” the barkeep drawls. Yuri’s smile is a bit more honest, this time. He likes this guy. The barkeep touches his throat. “Already been found, pretty boy, but there’s places.” He leans in. “Houses, you know. Where you can pay.” 

Oh, Goddess. “Right, yeah, I’ve...seen those. But I’m looking for a person, maybe they’ve stopped in? Cooked here? He’s about, oh, this tall.” Yuri holds up a hand. “Faerghan. Silver hair. Big green eyes. Submissive. Goes by Ashe.” 

The guy peers at him, pushing over his ale. He doesn’t speak until Yuri pays him, for the ale _and_ the fish and chips even though they haven’t materialized yet. 

“Don’t know him,” he says. Of course. 

Yuri drinks his ale and finishes his rather sub-par fish and chips. By the time he’s had two more ales -- watered down, he’s really going to have to send his complaints to Edelgard -- he’s learned nothing more and should really leave. It’s still raining, though, and it’s late enough that maybe he should just give up and start again tomorrow. 

But he thinks about Abyss; about Hapi, Constance, Balthus, all of them. Just because Balthus is living it up in Kupala with Holst doesn’t mean there wasn’t a time when he needed somewhere to go, and Yuri’s gods-damned dominant instincts are so attuned to _take care of people who need it_ that he knows he can’t just let this go. 

This plan isn’t complicated, really; but it means finding someone to venture forth into a completely different country, someone who can be counted on, someone reliable, someone who you just look at and think _yeah, I can trust him_. 

This is not Yuri, but it doesn’t have to be the person he’s looking for. Still, his instincts have kept him alive for -- his whole life, basically -- and they’re telling him that he needs to see this through. 

He’ll give it one more week. One more week, and if he doesn’t find Ashe Ubert, he’ll think of someone else. Hapi might help him out, though he really can’t see her playing the part of sweet-natured submissive. She’ll get annoyed at him, sigh, and there’ll go Almyra. 

And Yuri needs Almyra. He needs Claude von Riegan -- or whatever his name is, now -- to be a good man, a good _king_ , and someone who isn’t changing the name of any of his establishments to Eagle-something to get on Emperor Edelgard’s goodside. He needs Claude to understand that there are people who aren’t safe here, no matter who’s on the throne of Fódlan. 

He needs to know that Almyra isn’t just a puppet state, that Claude’s life wasn’t spared at Derdriu just so Edelgard would have a king to control and therefore rule the world. Not that she’d be that bad at it, she’s not as ill-suited as some. But Yuri’s got plans, and he needs Ashe. 

Ashe, who’s submissive and yet knows all about surviving in the shadows. Ashe, who used to be friends with former Blue Lion turned submissive of one Claude von Riegan, ruler of Almyra. It’s perfect, it’ll work great -- but Yuri needs to find Ashe, first. 

But he’s clearly not here, so Yuri leaves a few gold coins and tosses a salute at this month’s Most Unhelpful Barkeep, then goes to retrieve his coat. He gives the submissive a fleeting smile and a, “Thanks, dove,” when he tips her for keeping an eye on his coat, and she leans in and murmurs something that he realizes is _meet me in the back_. 

“I’m not really in the mood for --” 

“It’s about the person you’re looking for,” she says, pitching her voice low, eyes glancing over to the barkeep. “I know who it is. And I know where you can find them.” 

“Is that so,” Yuri says, feeling the low, warm burn of triumph. “Then lead the way, little dove, and sing your secrets in the rain.” 

*** 

Yuri doesn’t fuck her, but he does take her back to a nice clean room, let her serve him tea, bathe him, mend two shirts and then rubs her back and tells her she’s done a good job while she falls asleep in the nice comfy bed. 

He pays for a late check out at the little inn, arranges a breakfast and a hot bath for her, and then slips back out into the night. It’s still raining but just a drizzle, with dawn turning the sky into a mottled sickly gray as the sun tries -- and fails -- to push through. There’s still more people out and about than he would have thought; all those years at Garreg Mach made him forget how crowded and busy a proper city could be, sometimes. Then war came, and nights were for things far darker than merriment. 

He’s tired and needs to sleep -- Yuri trusts about four people enough to share a room with them, and as sweet as the submissive from the tavern was, she’s not one of them -- but he’s at least a little settled by the dom energy, the buzz from even that little bit of a scene more than he’s had in months. 

There are places he could go, people he could call, but it always feels a bit like an afterthought. It’d be nice to have someone on the regular, like those old-school fancy submissives that Adrestian nobles used to put up in house and visit when their arranged marriage or whatever was to another dominant. Edelgard seems to be of a mind to abolish a lot of old customs, but Yuri’s heard that she’s collared two of her ministers and is herself marrying a dominant, or has married, he’s not sure about the timeline on that. 

Edelgard is interesting, and as much as he’d love to pick her brain about how you go about planning to take over the world during stable duty with Hubert von Vestra while at _school_ , he’s got no real interest in running into her right now -- or ever, at least until he knows what’s up. The world is too topsy-turvy for too many people, he doesn’t have the luxury of a chat with the person who made it that way. 

Once the people who are counting on him are safe… maybe he’ll see if she wants to meet for tea. Maybe he’ll get his own pretty submissive to serve it while wearing his collar. Hey, they had an archbishop who was a dragon. Anything’s possible. 

Yuri checks the street name, walks along as the dawn breaks in full. It’s another dreary day and the rain is the annoying kind of drizzle that doesn’t do much but annoy you, but Enbarr’s a nice city, clean and relatively safe. There are people out sweeping leaves off stoops, taking out neatly-bagged trash, yawning while cleaning fogged windows from the inside. 

There’s a bakery that smells so good Yuri buys a sweet bun to eat on his walk, though the house he’s looking for isn’t far. It’s in a neighborhood with clean streets and freshly-painted iron fencing, quiet, untouched by war. People hustling in and out aren’t the minor lords who surely live here but their staff; some collared, some not. The house he’s looking for is near the end, with a pretty painted door and fresh paint on the railing. The windows are sparkling clean, there isn’t even any soot build-up around the lantern on the front. 

Yuri stands across the street, tilts his face up and blinks rain out of his eyes. “Are you up there, little rabbit?” he murmurs, around his sticky bun. It’s cooling rapidly in the rain, soggy, but still delicious. Hapi would like it. 

_Good. Remember who you’re doing this for. All of them, the people who don’t have anywhere else to go. And might not, still, in Edelgard’s new world._

The rain picks up, again, and Yuri sighs as the water drips off the hood of his cloak. He shoves the soggy bun into his pocket, fingers sticky. He sucks on them lightly, wondering how he must look to anyone who’s up and awake and looking out at the street. A slight figure in a nondescript black cloak, licking his fingers, smudged purple eyeshadow and tired eyes. 

There’s a light high up in the house, on the top floor. Servants’ quarters, probably. A quick glance shows a small path between this house and the one next to it; probably a garden in the back. Yuri smiles. Good. An entryway. 

He takes careful note of the surroundings, the houses and the traffic and any sounds like dogs or leashed giant birds or one of Hapi’s sigh-monsters. There’s nothing, just the quiet sounds of the mostly-privileged waking up, someone whistling up the street, a song like a war march. 

Yuri wonders if it rains in Almyra. If he’ll ever get there. The man he’s going to see was once a classmate, sort of, but he’d disappeared over the bright waters of Derdriu on wyvernback with his deer and was never seen again. 

_My sister is married to the King of Almyra,_ Holst said, in his lavish tent he shared with Balthus. _He just collared a submissive. You’ll never guess who it is._

The King of Almyra’s newly-collared submissive is so loyal, they say he would fight his own former countrymen to keep him safe. But he’s also been looking for friends scattered by the war; not the ones who fell, or defected, but the ones who hunkered down in the shadows because they had more at stake than their own safety. 

If Yuri can find one of them, he has an in to Almyra. And if he can get in front of the king, see where this Khalid’s loyalties lie… maybe he’ll find somewhere the rest of his people can be safe. 

But first, he has a sticky bun to throw away, some hair to dry, and a home invasion to plan. And maybe, first, a nap. It’s going to be a long, long day. 

***

Another fruitless night of searching.

Ashe keeps his sigh to himself and his steps light as he makes his way down the darkened hall. There’s no reason for him to be in this part of the house this late at night, but by now he knows which creaky boards to avoid, which doors can’t be opened silently because the edges catch on their frames. The mistress of the household wouldn’t tolerate a squeaky door in her chambers, but this is the third floor, where no one but the servants wander and the vacant rooms are filled with furniture draped in heavy sheets to ward off dust.

Sometimes when he catches a glimpse of a covered armoire or a twitch of fabric in his periphery, Ashe thinks of ghosts, and his heart hammers. But any ghosts that haunt him aren’t here. They linger over the Tailtean Plains, restless and prowling, perhaps still seeking their revenge. Or so Ashe assumes. He wasn’t there to see the deaths of Dedue and His Highness, but he can’t believe they rest peacefully now, not when they met such violent ends.

Rain and thunder, blood and bone. Ashe heard the stories told here in the streets of Enbarr. Many a bard wrote ballads extolling the Emperor’s glorious victory. Even now, the walls of taverns resound with their songs on the anniversary, drunken revelers rejoicing, a praise chorus for death.

Edelgard had gotten her way at last. Ashe wonders if she celebrates, too. The world is changing by her design. Ashe simply isn’t sure if it’s for the better, or if the Emperor replaced the church with yet another form of tyranny. He certainly holds no appreciation for her bloody methods.

Two years since the war and Ashe still mourns his friends—his king and the one who could have been something more, something Ashe’s alone.

But what were youthful promises in the face of war? Ashe has no collar at his throat, just a bespelled charm that maintains the glamour he’s hidden behind for the past year. No home to speak of. Only the persistent urge to check over his shoulder, the constant sensation of being hunted—even if it’s only in his own mind.

Ashe isn’t sure if Edelgard is searching for the ones who fought against her, hoping to quash any signs of potential rebellion, but if she _is_ and he remains here in the capital city, he’ll be discovered eventually. He’s already stayed far longer than he planned. It’s time to move on, and soon, before his tactic of hiding in plain sight actually puts him into the sights of his enemies—as laughable as it is to think he has any. He never did, before his time at Garreg Mach. But when war broke, Ashe chose his side, and he would do it again.

Disappointment claws at him as he ascends the stairs to his tiny attic room, though he knows his sense of caution will eventually prevail. This was supposed to be the last time, one final job with a reward substantial enough to provide for his escape and his livelihood beyond.

He’d heard tales of the magical talisman House Verrall possessed. The supposed prized heirloom passed down by a powerful mage ancestor, rumored to be worth so much gold Ashe would never have to steal again if he could only find the amulet and deliver it to the highest bidder. He has a potential buyer lined up already, one who’ll pay vast sums of coin to get their hands on such a powerful artifact.

How frustrating to be so very close and fail.

Ashe’s shoulders slump. So much for his plan to send a portion of his spoils to his siblings before disappearing for good. To where, he didn’t know, but away—miles from Adrestia, miles from Faerghus. There must be a place he can finally let down his guard, and perhaps, in the future, bring his siblings to join him as well. He won’t go to them now, no matter how much he longs to see them. He can’t risk bringing trouble to their doorstep in the form of imperial soldiers, not when they’ve attained some measure of peace in the time since the fighting stopped.

He’ll have to find another way to fund his journey. He’s searched this house from top to bottom, for weeks, _months_ , attempting to locate a trapdoor, a secret vault, a clue to where the amulet might be hidden. So far, he’s found absolutely nothing, and he worries his subtle questions have aroused suspicions among the other staff.

Ashe doesn’t like admitting defeat, but he knows when it’s time to retreat. He has to sneak away while it’s still safe for him to do so, and the buyer will have to find a different thief to steal their prize.

He slips into his room under the cover of darkness. No sense in bringing a candle when he’s trying to keep his movements a secret, and he’s more than accustomed to moving through the shadows, unseen and unheard. The fire has burned down to embers, leaving the room nearly as dim as the corridor itself, but Ashe is unbothered by the gloom. He knows this space like he knows how to nock an arrow. There’s nothing here to surprise him.

Ashe crosses the room on stockinged feet, moving to the chest of drawers containing his meager possessions. He’s reaching behind himself to untie the apron from his waist, when a scrape and a tiny flare of light make him spin around toward the opposite corner, where the shape of a man sits on the edge of his modest bed.

“Well, hello, rabbit,” says a deep voice, one that Ashe immediately recognizes, though it should be impossible for the owner of that voice to be _here_ , of all places.

Ashe hikes up his skirts and grabs for the vicious little knife sheathed in the holster around his upper thigh. He hasn’t had cause to use the weapon while in the relative safety of this house, but he learned several valuable lessons during his time on the streets after his parents died—the first of which was to never walk into any situation unarmed or unprepared.

Yuri Leclerc makes an amused noise and the match in his fingers burns out. His approach is so sudden and stealthy he’s in front of Ashe before Ashe has a chance to do much more than take a breath.

“I thought you preferred bows to blades,” Yuri says, and he steps right up to Ashe, letting the tip of the knife come to rest against his chest.

“I prefer not fighting at all,” Ashe replies, wary, still trying to calm the racing of his heart, “but I’ll use whatever sharp object I can get my hands on if it keeps me alive.”

“Fair enough.”

Between the dim glow from the fire and the moonlight from the window, Ashe can see the lavender of Yuri’s hair and the glossy gleam on his mouth. He smells sweet, but he radiates the same casual dominance Ashe remembers from their time at the academy, the few instances Ashe had caught more than a glimpse. Like most decent dominants at Garreg Mach, Yuri had tried to rein in his instincts when interacting with his uncollared submissive classmates. It was a matter of both propriety and respect, although not everyone adhered to those rules or other common courtesies. Plenty of dominants believed their biological birthright gave them leave to do as they willed, whenever they wished, to whomever they pleased. Ashe had years of practice resisting commands from dominants who’d tried to use his nature against him, assuming he’d fold to his knees at the slightest prompting.

He surprised them every time. Ashe might look like the world’s sweetest, most mild-mannered submissive, but he would kneel for someone worthy or not at all. That’s a vow he made to himself long ago, and one he intends to keep. He’s not sure, even now, which category Yuri falls into.

Ashe swallows thickly. “What—what are you doing here?”

“Lower the knife and then we’ll talk. I’m not here to hurt you.”

Ashe nearly laughs. He doesn’t really know Yuri. Doesn’t trust him either. “Why should I believe that?”

He senses more than sees Yuri’s shrug. “Because if I wanted to, friend, I could have done it already.”

Ashe hesitates, wetting his mouth. Yuri still hasn’t moved. The blade is there, against his chest. Ashe knows how sharp it is, how Yuri can probably feel the threat of it through his clothing. It’s not a long knife, but it’s enough to do the job, and Ashe knows precisely where to strike to inflict the most possible damage. Yet… Yuri did have the opportunity to harm him but hadn’t. Whatever his reasons for being here, it doesn’t seem likely he’d want to have a conversation with Ashe before killing him, if murder is his intention.

Slowly, Ashe lowers his arm to his side.

“Good,” Yuri says. “Thank you.” He shifts back a little. “I’m going to light these candles, all right?”

Ashe nods, remembers Yuri probably can’t see very well either, and murmurs an assent. Yuri must’ve been in his room for a while, because he goes right to the candelabra on the chest of drawers and makes quick work of lighting the three wicks.

Ashe stares at him in the flickering candlelight. At first glance, Yuri appears as beautiful as ever, as if war and hardship haven’t touched him. But when Ashe looks closer, he sees the exhaustion in Yuri’s eyes, the fine lines at the corners.

Yuri’s gaze falls to his neck, and he steps forward and reaches out, crooking an elegant finger in the charm necklace around Ashe’s throat. Ashe shivers despite himself.

“This does a fair job of disguising you,” Yuri says, “at least to anyone who isn’t familiar with you already.”

Ashe knows the charm isn’t perfect, and the glamour isn’t particularly strong. He’s grown out his hair to just past his shoulders, which aids the overall effect, but the spell does the work of softening his features, giving him a more feminine appearance and the hint of curves where a woman would have them. It isn’t as powerful as the magic that allowed Solon to pose as the librarian Tomas with no one ever being the wiser, but it’s helped keep Ashe hidden for all this time. Frankly, at this point, he worries he’ll feel exposed without it. He hasn’t removed the charm even once since he began working for House Verrall.

Speaking of exposed, he can’t handle having Yuri’s hand so close to his neck for even another second. Ashe steps back and turns his face away, uneasy, barely resisting the urge to reach up and rub the place where Yuri’s finger grazed his skin.

“I’m sorry,” Yuri says. “I shouldn’t have touched you without your permission.”

“It’s fine.” Ashe shifts his weight from one foot to another. He feels ridiculous standing there in his maid’s outfit, but he hadn’t wanted to risk being caught wandering the house dressed in anything else. If he was in uniform, he could claim to have been doing late-night chores, as thin as the excuse might have been. “Just tell me what you want, please.”

Yuri moves away, to the chair before the small desk Ashe uses to write letters to his siblings. Ashe watches from the corner of his eye as Yuri takes a seat and crosses his legs, as casual as anything.

“I have a proposition for you,” Yuri says, lacing his fingers over his knee.

Ashe eases closer and openly scrutinizes him. He can’t keep the suspicion from his expression, and he doesn’t bother trying very hard. “What sort of proposition?”

“You and I have something in common, Ashe. We both like taking care of people.” Yuri pauses. “No, not like. We _need_ to take care of people. You do it with your siblings. I do it with the people from Abyss… although we’re scattered now. There is no Abyss to return to. They’re in need of a new sanctuary.”

“Okay…” Ashe wrinkles his brow. “What does this have to do with me?”

“You know what it’s like not to have anywhere to go,” Yuri says. “There are people here in Fódlan who would be a lot safer if they were elsewhere. You get me, friend? I’d even venture to say you’re one of them, or else why are you hiding here? I assume to steal something, yes, but you’ve been hiding since the war ended. Running like a fugitive. Aren’t you tired?”

Ashe presses his lips together. He’s not shocked Yuri would figure him out so easily—he’d done his snooping if he’d found Ashe here and gotten into the house undetected. Still, it’s disconcerting to feel as if Yuri somehow peeked into his head and yanked all his secrets out.

“I have a plan,” Yuri continues when Ashe remains silent. “But I need your help to pull it off. I need a submissive to accompany me to Almyra.”

“But why me?” Ashe asks, blinking. “Why not just hire someone or take one of your former Abyssians? I know nothing about Almyra.”

“But you do know someone there. A former classmate of yours.”

“What do you mean?” To his knowledge, the only people from Garreg Mach with any connection to Almyra were Cyril and Claude. Cyril died in Fhirdiad—and Ashe only learned of Claude’s position in Almyra after the war ended. They’d never been particularly close.

“So, the news hasn’t reached you yet, huh?” Yuri says, tilting his head. “Felix Fraldarius is Claude’s—King Khalid’s—collared submissive.”

“ _Felix_? Collared to _Claude_?” Ashe is so surprised the knife nearly slips from his fingers. “I—when did that—?”

“Last year.” Yuri leans back in the chair. “I didn’t realize you’d be this out of the loop.”

“Well…” Ashe steps closer to the chest of drawers and sets the knife on top before he drops the thing or hurts himself. Who knows what other big reveals Yuri has in store? “I have been doing my best to keep my head down. I only communicate with my siblings, and they’re still in Gaspard. They have no reason to know what’s happening in an entirely different kingdom.”

“In any case, Felix has been looking for you. He’s trying to find his old housemates. Which means you have an in to Almyra, and if I’m your dominant, I do, too.”

Ashe’s jaw drops open, and for a moment, he just stands there, gaping at Yuri in stupefied silence. “You… If you’re my… _What_?”

“ _Quiet_ ,” Yuri snaps, and there’s enough dominance in the word that Ashe instinctively drops his voice to a hiss. He hadn’t even realized he was on the verge of yelling.

“But… but… what are you saying?”

“Not your real dominant, of course,” Yuri says with a wave. “It’d be a ruse. You pretend to be my collared submissive. No one would expect me to send you off to Almyra by yourself. You can see Felix, I can bend Claude’s ear, see if he’s sympathetic to my cause. Easy as pie.”

“Your cause,” Ashe repeats slowly. “Finding a new place for the people from Abyss.”

“And others who need my help, but yes. I need to know what Claude’s motivations are and what ties he has to Edelgard. Obviously we can’t take Fódlan refugees to Almyra if Claude would simply hand them over to the Emperor. The point is to get them as far beyond her reach as possible.” Yuri stands and steps toward him. “And if you’re wondering what’s in it for you, pretty rabbit, how about a new home? You could settle in Almyra too, and I would, naturally, pay you for your services. I’m looking to hire you, not asking for free favors.”

Ashe can smell him again, something sweet and subtle. Last time they’d stood this close to each other, back at Garreg Mach, Ashe had been slightly shorter than Yuri. He’s grown since then. Now their heights are about equal, but only because of the heels on Yuri’s boots. Without them, Ashe would be a fraction taller, and yet he knows somehow he’d still feel small next to Yuri anyway. It’s his presence, his demeanor. He looms large, and Ashe is not immune to his nearness or the idea of wearing his collar, even if it would only be an act until Yuri ascertained where Claude’s loyalties lay.

The last time someone offered Ashe a collar, it was real. He isn’t sure how difficult it’ll be to wear one that doesn’t actually mean anything. Just an act. A job. A farce. But Ashe’s only priority now is getting to a place where he can finally move on, somewhere far away from here. Almyra is on the opposite side of the continent. He can’t get much farther than that… And besides, Felix will be there. They’d been friends, of a kind, before the war. Ashe realizes, suddenly and almost painfully, how much he _wants_ to see Felix. He must be happy, if he accepted Claude’s collar. Ashe hopes he is. Felix deserves it. _Some_ of them should be happy, shouldn’t they? It didn’t matter that Ashe’s dreams of a loving dominant who’d want to claim a commoner and former thief died at the Tailtean Plains with Dedue.

“If you need to think about it, I can give you a couple of days,” Yuri says, cutting into his musings. “But I can’t afford any more than that. Lives are at stake.”

 _When aren’t they?_ Ashe wants to ask, but the thought reeks of bitterness he can’t stand. He can scarcely remember a time when every moment didn’t feel fraught with peril—yet, he’d wanted to be a knight, once. A defender of the vulnerable. He’d planned to dedicate his life to honor and chivalry, serving under his king at Dedue’s side. Dedue isn’t here anymore. But by agreeing to Yuri’s plan, he’ll be helping others, those with even less means to protect themselves than he possesses himself. What reason did he have to refuse?

Ashe meets Yuri’s eyes. “I’ll do it.”

***

Yuri has forgotten how nice it is to be out of the city. 

The rain has petered out, leaving a fine mist and a lot of mud, but luckily they find a place beneath a heavy thicket of trees with ground dry enough for a tent and a fire. Yuri shakes out his cloak and hangs it from a branch, hoping it will dry a little even if the proximity to the fire means it will smell like smoke for the next few days. 

He watches Ashe as they set up camp. Ashe has taken off the charm, and he’s dressed for travel in simple breeches and a linen tunic, similar to Yuri’s own unremarkable attire, with a coat that seems a little too threadbare to make it all the way to Almyra. It’s warm there, at least it is in the capital, but they’ll have quite a journey to make it there. The Hrym mountains are especially dire this time of year, muddy and rainy and generally miserable. 

Ashe’s hair is tied back, and he’s making their dinner like a good proper submissive would; humming a bit, boiling water over the fire in a camping pot, two rabbits skinned and skewered lying next to it with some simple vegetables they’d picked up on their way out of Enbarr. Whatever else he’s been doing since the war ended, Ashe is still good with a bow. He brought the rabbits down in the rain, near dark, without hesitating. 

Yuri sits on the stump of a tree, rummages through his bag. “I have a few options for you. For a collar. I don’t know if you have a preference. I think we should talk about how this will work, a little, before we get to Almyra. We have some time to figure it out, but for this to be believable, little rabbit, we need to be on the same page.” He pulls out a selection of collars, which are the type they favor in Enbarr; thick heavy leather with a simple buckle and loop. One is a pretty black lined with soft fur, one is white with grey fur, and one is a clover-green that doesn’t have any fur but the leather is butter soft, and the buckle and loop are a platinum color that are almost white. 

“This one I thought would look the nicest,” says Yuri, lifting the green one. “It matches your eyes, and I’ve a reputation to maintain, yeah?” 

Ashe moves over toward him. The meat from the rabbits is starting to cook, the smell delicious in the cool evening. Ashe glances at him, at the collars he’s holding. “You thought -- that one, then?” He points to the green one, but doesn’t touch it.

“Yes, but you’re the one wearing it.” Yuri studies him. “I never asked if anyone’s ever collared you.” 

Ashe’s face is careful and blank, his eyes shuttered. “No. No one has.” 

“Interesting. You’re resourceful, pretty. Is there a reason?” Yuri tilts his head, sensing something there in the way Ashe stands so still, tense, like one of those rabbits before it fell to Ashe’s arrows. 

“Yes.” His voice goes soft, faraway. “Someone was going to, once. Is there a reason you don’t have a submissive?” 

Yuri knows a distraction tactic when he hears one. He lets it go; it’s not important, not really. All that matters is that Ashe will play his part. “My life isn’t necessarily one that’s easy to share, starling. I already feel responsible for plenty of people, fancy accessories or not.” He holds up the green collar. “The sooner we do this, the better. But we’ve a little time. If you need it.” 

Ashe looks almost surprised; either by Yuri allowing him some time before he takes the collar, or for not pushing about who the dominant was who was going to claim him. It makes little difference, though of course Yuri is curious. He has a few suspicions, but you don’t win trust by using dominance to demand answers. Ashe would tell him if he pushed, Yuri thinks. But he’d rather Ashe tell him without even being asked. 

“No, it’s -- it’s all right. I agreed to come with you, and I know this is part of it.” Ashe touches his throat, gently. “You’re right. The sooner the better, probably.” 

Yuri can see him swallow. It does set off his dominance instincts, makes him start buzzing with the desire to see him kneel, to touch, to be obeyed. “If you’re going to be my submissive, we need to talk about limits. I don’t think you’re much of a masochist, are you?” 

“I -- no, not really.” Ashe isn’t kneeling, but his hands are migrating behind his back and his gaze is sliding down and away from Yuri’s own.

He’s clearly responding to the gentler tone of Yuri’s dominance. Good to know. “Are you able to kneel for me, starling?” 

Ashe’s breath is shaky, but he nods and sinks to his knees. He has good posture, perfectly acceptable, and he doesn’t seem bothered that he’s kneeling in the slightly damp grass. 

“Good,” Yuri says, softly, and he can see that the praise helps ease the tension in Ashe’s shoulders. “Your limits, can you tell me them?” 

“I - don’t like pain, or to be humiliated. I’m - inclined toward service. I like cooking. I don’t know much about high protocol, like they have in Enbarr.” 

Yuri snorts a laugh. “Me, neither. That’s for dominants with nothing else to do but sit behind a desk and draft rules for how far apart your heels should be. Not my style, lovely. Hurting you isn’t, either. I’ve had enough of that.” He sighs and leans forward, reaches out and gently tilts Ashe’s face up to his. “Anything else? You’re allowed to add to the list, of course.” 

Ashe has a pretty blush, a spill of red blooming like a flower over his pale freckled cheeks. “I -- please don’t. Make this something it isn’t? I can be your submissive, but I can’t… please don’t take this too far, Yuri. I need to remember it isn’t real.” 

Yuri nods. “Sure thing, little starling. Thank you.” He idly strokes the side of Ashe’s cheek; Ashe shivers a little, and Yuri moves to petting his hair. “Last question. When you’re being good for me, like you are right now, I like to give rewards. Want to tell me what that’s like for you? What makes it worth it?” 

“I don’t have… a lot of experience. But I like knowing I’ve done well.” Ashe peeks up at him. “This is nice. The - hand in my hair.” 

Yuri nods. Praise and affection, he’s good with that. “Affection, yeah? Good. I like that.” He does notice that Ashe relaxes under the simple words, the gentle touch. “Everyone will assume I fuck you, because that’s how everyone thinks this works. But I won’t touch you like that at all unless you ask me, starling. That’s _my_ rule. Kisses, petting your hair, it’s all fine. If you want more, you’ll need to ask.” Yuri’s spent too long giving pleasure when he didn’t want to; he’d never ask anyone else to take it that wasn’t interested. 

Ashe blinks wide eyes up at him. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t -- I wouldn’t assume you’d want --” 

“Shh.” Yuri taps his mouth with two fingers. “It’s not about assumptions or me not wanting to put my hands all over you. You’re gorgeous. Sweet, I can tell that already. You’re doing me a monumental favor and I’ll owe you for it forever. But your body is always going to be yours. Collar or no. All right?” 

Ashe nods. “All right, I - the kissing, touching, that’s fine.” 

“Yeah?” Yuri grins at him, wicked and slow. “Good. You’re so pretty, I would like to kiss you. But first.” He holds up the collar. “I’ll put this on you, and you can finish with dinner, all right? Serve me like a good submissive, and before bed, I’ll tell you how good you were for me.” 

Ashe gives a strange laugh. “That voice of yours. People always -- try to dominate me with the - the louder one. You know?”

Yuri laughs. “I know. I’m not the type. Thank you, again, Ashe. Turn around now, kneel and hold your hair out of the way for me. Sometimes wearing a collar, even if it’s just for play, can put people under.” 

“I don’t go under as easy as you’d think,” Ashe says, though he does move to the position requested and lift his hair up. The elegant lines of his neck, his shoulders, are pleasing to look at in the firelight. “People have made that mistake with me, before.” 

“People make mistakes all the time with me, too, starling,” Yuri murmurs. “People are generally full of shit and full of their own self-importance.” He opens the collar and there _is_ a moment where he feels a rush of possessive heat, wanting to lean in and bite the pale skin of Ashe’s neck before he puts the collar there. He brushes it aside. “Instinct is instinct, but we’re not animals. We aren’t slaves to our baser desires. People use it to excuse all kinds of abominable behavior.” 

Ashe does make a sound when Yuri puts the soft leather collar around his neck and buckles it; it’s a little soft exhale, almost sad. A story there, for sure. Yuri leans back. It’s satisfying, of course. But he meant what he said. It’s nature. It’s supposed to be satisfying. “There we are. Whenever you’re ready, so to dinner.” 

It takes Ashe a few moments to get himself together, but eventually he rises to his feet and goes over to the fire. The rabbit is a little crispy and the vegetables have lost a bit of their bite, but it’s good, hearty food and Ashe is adept at service; he brings Yuri his portion on a plate along with a canteen of water, and he settles on the grass at Yuri’s feet to eat his own. 

Yuri watches him touch the collar every so often, but they speak of easy things; the route they’ll take, the best way to get to Almyra, if they should take a ship instead of going over ground. But Yuri is nervous at the idea of being on a ship. Very hard to get away when you’re all but trapped on a boat in the middle of the ocean. 

“Thank you for dinner, starling,” Yuri murmurs, and carefully draws his fingers through Ashe’s hair. “It was good.” 

“Thank you,” Ashe says, leaning into it. He seems more relaxed from the service, from the praise. 

Yuri notices that Ashe doesn’t lower his gaze, though his smile is genuine and his posture relaxed. He gives a soft laugh, fingers stroking idly over Ashe’s cheek, his jaw. “How many dominants take one look at you and think you’ll go to your knees so easily for them?” 

“A lot,” Ashe says, smile turning into a smirk. It’s a good look on him. 

“That must be frustrating,” Yuri says. 

“A little,” Ashe agrees. He’s staring at Yuri with wide eyes gone just a little glassy. Not under, not quite, but something close. He’s breathing a little faster, which Yuri notices. 

“Can I kiss you, starling?” Yuri asks, drawing him close. “That’s all. Just a kiss.” 

Ashe draws in a breath, but nods. “I -- yes, all right, and thank you for asking.” 

Yuri smiles at him, winks, then leans in to kiss him. He keeps it slow and easy, mouth moving gently against Ashe’s, and he gradually makes it a little deeper, a little more firm. His fingers slide down to hold his chin, and when he pulls back -- ah, there. Ashe drags in a breath and lowers his gaze, and Yuri pats him on the cheek gently and drops his hand. “How do you feel?” 

“Good,” Ashe says, to the ground. He looks pretty, kneeling with perfect posture there at Yuri’s feet. “Settled. It’s - nice. It really is.” 

“I’m glad. I think we’ll work well together. Was any of it too much?” 

Ashe shakes his head briefly. “No, that was all fine. Sorry, I -- ah. It really has been a while, for me.” 

“Don’t apologize. It’s supposed to feel nice, yeah? That’s the whole point, or so they say.” 

Ashe looks up at him, then. “Does it -- feel nice for you, too? Right now, I mean?” 

Yuri looks at him there, kneeling so pretty in the damp grass, the firelight reflecting off his silvery hair and turning it a pale orange. “Of course it does, starling.” Before he can say anything else, the wind rustles and there’s the unmistakable sound of rain beginning to pick up. “We should get this put away and head into the tent before we’re soaked.” 

Ashe nods and gets to his feet, though he pauses and says, “Would you prefer if I ask before I do that?” 

Yuri thinks about it. “Ask if I haven’t told you to do something and you’re kneeling. Otherwise, it’s fine. High protocol isn’t exactly my passion, yeah?” 

Ashe ducks his head and maybe blushes; or else it’s just the light from the fire, throwing shadows on his fair skin. Still, there’s a moment when Yuri thinks maybe Ashe wants to ask the obvious question… but he doesn’t, and Yuri respects him for that. Never give away your hand too early in the game, and even though they’re on the same side, it’s most definitely a game.

***

By the end of a fortnight, Ashe and Yuri have fallen into a routine. They spend the daylight hours traveling on backroads and wooded trails, avoiding the smaller villages where the presence of strangers is more likely to be remembered should imperial soldiers come calling.

When they do need to venture into town to replenish their supplies, it’s Ashe who goes. He slips his charm over his collar, arranges his hair in a simple plait, and dons a chemise and one of the two plain woolen dresses he shoved into his bag before they left Enbarr. Unlike Yuri, with his striking lavender hair and pretty eyes, Ashe can make himself forgettable when he needs to be. He doesn’t consider himself particularly memorable to begin with, but he’s well-accustomed to disguising any features that might make him stand out—a kerchief over his silvery-gray hair, keeping his eyes lowered to hide their color, which works in his favor because most dominants expect such deference from a submissive anyway.

Ashe plays his part and blends into the background, unremarkable as the trees along the road or the squirrels scampering among their branches. Nothing to see here, nothing to feel when he lifts the occasional purse from the nobles who look like they can spare the coin.

Most times they hunt and gather their food, or rather Ashe does. He’s quick and deadly with a bow, and his keen eyesight allows him to spot his prey from yards away. Thanks to his teachings from Lonato and the hours he spent studying in the library or assisting in the greenhouse with Dedue, he’s also well-versed in botany. He recognizes which plants are useful for healing, which are edible, and which to avoid, like the ones with bell-shaped flowers and dark, plump berries that will kill a grown man within minutes.

Ashe cooks their meals over a fire every morning and evening, and in between, he collects the gifts nature so helpfully provides to those clever enough to recognize their value. One never knows when they may have to put together a hasty tonic or crush leaves into a paste to fend off an infection. Better to be prepared. It’s a philosophy Ashe learned to live by early in life, when he stood as the only barrier between his siblings and a slow, painful death from starvation or exposure to the elements.

Necessity bred resourcefulness. Over time, Ashe taught himself how to survive in almost any scenario—because he had to. Whether it be subsisting on roots and berries in the wild, or scavenging in back alleys for salvageable food, or picking a lock on a safe—or in one unforgettable, horrifying instance, the door of a cage owned by a dominant who refused to take no for an answer. Ashe refused to be anyone’s plaything, ever, and he’d been lucky enough to escape that situation unscathed, but only because he had the skills to do so. Most other submissives wouldn’t have been so fortunate.

It settles Ashe, providing for Yuri now. He wasn’t lying when he admitted to not having much experience. He knelt for Dedue once, and only once, when Dedue promised to collar him someday. But he was so young, they both were, and Dedue was so committed to His Highness he scarcely saw anything else. They thought they’d have years to understand one another, to grow together and discover where ridges met hollows, and how to arrange themselves to fill each other’s empty spaces. They should’ve had the rest of their lives, after Prince Dimitri ascended the throne.

The Emperor crushed that dream under her heel.

Ashe tries not to think about Dedue, but it’s hard not to make comparisons. Yuri is so different. Sly where Dedue was forthright, playful instead of reserved and almost painfully serious. Cunning in a way that reminds Ashe of Claude and makes him wonder how their meeting with the Almyran king will go. Whether or not Claude will see straight through their act with that piercing green gaze of his. Ashe didn’t know Claude well—he suspects no one did, back then—but he recognized some of himself in the older boy during their months at the Officers Academy. A survival instinct prompted by being dropped into unfamiliar surroundings.

Ashe is determined he won’t be the one to give them away, no matter what it costs him. He spends his evenings kneeling at Yuri’s feet, acclimating to Yuri’s touch on his face, his hair; to kisses both light and teasing or slow and deep enough to make Ashe shiver and clench his hands in Yuri’s shirt.

His style of dominance is the one commonality Yuri shares with Dedue. When he was alive, people looked at Dedue and assumed he’d be rough and firm-handed; those same sort of people looked at Yuri and assumed he’d be soft, or that he was a pretty, young submissive they could break or tame—until they got too close and he took a slice out of them.

The idea that anyone would mistake Yuri for anything but a dominant is laughable to Ashe. To him, the signs are plentiful and obvious. The calm confidence with which Yuri carries himself, the cool, commanding expression in his eyes, even the surety of motion when he performs simple tasks, setting up the tent or starting a fire. He wears his quiet assuredness like a shroud, and he never hides the pleasure he takes from being in control when Ashe follows his instructions.

Perhaps Ashe only sees it because they’ve grown attuned to each other over the last two weeks, but he finds it hard to believe other submissives wouldn’t recognize it, too, or that other dominants could possibly miss it.

Then again, most people aren’t at all concerned with anything beyond their own self-interests. It blinds them to everything else, and Ashe would know. The small-minded arrogance so prevalent among the nobility has allowed him to steal some of their prized possessions from right under their noses, so sure were they that a little, mousy submissive would never dare step a toe out of line.

It amuses Ashe how often gentleness gets conflated with weakness. Yuri could not be more different from some of the dominants Ashe has encountered, those who tried to test him and failed, and then attempted to take their anger out on his hide.

Yuri doesn’t bark orders. He makes requests, and while he may fully expect those requests to be fulfilled, and promptly, his voice is always soft instead of strident, and he never tries to bend Ashe to his will simply to prove he can. And that… that’s why Ashe _wants_ to obey Yuri, to earn his approval and respect.

It’ll take one hell of a submissive to secure Yuri’s permanent collar someday. Ashe knows it won’t be him. For all they get along, this is only a pretense, another mission to complete, and he can’t allow himself to think otherwise. The leather around his throat means nothing, even if he draws comfort from its presence and his fingers occasionally drift up to touch it of their own volition. He feels himself getting closer to being truly under—for the first time since Dedue put him there all those years ago—just from being allowed to serve Yuri, from being praised for his cooking and his hunting and the care he takes with his tasks. In some ways it’s a relief—it feels _good_ to slip into that headspace; he hadn’t realized how much he missed it, and instinct is hard to deny—but in other ways, it’s terrifying.

To Ashe, the collar represents both safety and torment. Yuri isn’t truly his dominant, and he never will be, but their little masquerade won’t work if Ashe isn’t seen to be completely comfortable in Yuri’s presence. They’re supposed to be together, aren’t they? Dominant and submissive. Two halves of a whole. So Ashe will endure the collar as long as he must, and hope he doesn’t lose himself along the way.

That night, they sit in front of the fire after dinner, Yuri perched on an old tree stump, and Ashe once again kneeling at his feet. One of Yuri’s slender hands sweeps over Ashe’s hair in slow, soothing motions, but before he can fall asleep, Ashe rouses himself from his contented drowsiness to broach the subject that’s plagued him all day.

“What should our story be?” he asks, turning his attention from the dwindling fire to Yuri’s face. “What should we tell Claude about how we met, I mean? How I ended up wearing your collar?”

Yuri hums. “I’ve been wondering about that myself, starling.” His fingers touch Ashe’s nape, brushing over the buckle on his collar, tugging the leather lightly against Ashe’s skin.

Ashe restrains a shiver, but his eyelids go half-mast. “I… I had a thought about that, actually.”

“Let’s hear it, friend.” Yuri’s hand squeezes the back of his neck, briefly but firmly enough Ashe _does_ shiver this time.

Ashe lifts his chin and sways toward him, wetting his mouth. Yuri’s thumb follows the curve of his lower lip, and Ashe flicks his tongue against the tip without thinking.

Yuri’s gaze darkens, but he doesn’t push, simply moves the caress to cup Ashe’s jaw. “Tell me, pretty. What’s our love story?”

Ashe makes a soft sound, a cut-off whimper, something stifled and _hurt_ —he’s not sure how to describe it himself. All he knows is it’s more vulnerable than he likes, and there’s a raw ache blooming beneath his breastbone. He can’t even explain why, only that hearing Yuri say _“our love story”_ set off a pang in his chest, and now his whole torso hurts like a bruise.

Yuri backs off immediately. His hand drops to his lap. “I’m sorry. Too far?”

Ashe shakes his head. Nods. “I—I’m not sure.”

“Take a moment, if you need it. Or start talking, if you want the distraction.”

After a few seconds, Ashe manages another nod. He opens his mouth to tell Yuri his idea, but what emerges instead is, “I’m not weak.”

“I know.” Yuri doesn’t say anything more, just those two words, but it’s enough.

Ashe sighs, feeling foolish. This is exactly what he’s worried about, of course. That his mind will be able to differentiate between the truth and the lie, but his heart won’t know the difference. “I… I was thinking we could tell them I heard about you and the other Abyssians after Fhirdiad burned, that I came to you because I’d fought for the Kingdom against Edelgard and had nowhere else to go, and then…”

“And then we bonded,” Yuri finishes, and Ashe sucks in a shaky breath, relieved, because he almost expected Yuri to say _“And then we fell in love.”_

“Yes.”

“That’s perfect, sweetheart.” Yuri reaches out to pet his hair again. “Close enough to the truth that we shouldn’t have trouble remembering, and it makes sense. They’ve probably heard I stayed to defend my people. I spill blood when I have to, but I had no motivation to join their war. The people I care about, they wouldn’t have survived without me. Maybe that sounds self-important, but it’s the truth. The strong must step up to protect the weak, when they can.”

“I agree,” Ashe says softly, pressing his face into Yuri’s hand. “That’s why I wanted to be a knight, to defend those who can’t defend themselves. I would have continued on that path, if His Highness had lived to take the throne.”

“And would you still have been with the dominant that wanted to collar you once?” Yuri’s voice is quiet, and Ashe knows he won’t push for an answer if Ashe stays silent, but they both already know, had the war not caused their intended paths to wildly diverge, they probably wouldn’t be here, together, now.

“Yes.” Ashe almost sighs it out, and the pain beneath his breastbone flares anew. “I would have stayed with him. I loved him. I think he loved me, too.”

Yuri’s breathing stops, just for a second. Ashe closes his eyes. “You think?” Yuri asks.

“He never said. We never said.” Ashe shrugs, as if it doesn’t hurt, as if it hasn’t tormented him for years. “We ran out of time.”

Yuri’s fingers tip his chin up, gently and slowly enough Ashe can resist if he wants. He doesn’t.

“I know the feeling,” Yuri says, his thumb brushing Ashe’s cheekbone, collecting a tear Ashe didn’t realize he’d shed. “Time has long been an enemy of mine. It always feels like it’s running short, doesn’t it?”

Ashe nods without speaking, his voice too tied up by grief.

“Ah, pretty starling.” Yuri bends down and kisses him, tender, lingering. “I’m sorry you lost him. You can tell me about him someday, if you like. If you need to tell the story.”

“Th-thank you. Maybe I will.”

Yuri leans back. “For now, to bed. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

 _And many more long days after that_ , Ashe thinks. They have maybe another three weeks before they reach Almyra. It’ll be an arduous journey, but better on land than trapped on a ship at sea with nowhere to go but a watery grave if they needed to escape, as Yuri said when they first made their plans.

Yuri stands and offers Ashe a hand, which he accepts, allowing Yuri to pull him to his feet.

A short while later, once they're huddled in their bedrolls against the evening chill, Yuri’s hand finds his again. He laces their fingers together, squeezing lightly.

Ashe listens to the sound of Yuri’s breaths, the buzz of insects outside their tent, the whistle of wind through the trees. He lets his eyes drift shut and squeezes back.


	2. Chapter 2

It finally stops raining somewhere just south of Hrym. 

Yuri knows it’s only a momentary reprieve; it’s the season of storms, and hell, it’s probably _snowing_ in goddamn Faerghus. But for a few glorious days, the temperature is beautiful during the sunny, cloudless days, and at night the sky is clear enough to see the stars. Dry enough, and warm enough by the fire, to skip putting up the tent and just sleep in their bedrolls. 

It’s the third night, as they near the base of the mountains and Yuri knows with the intuition of a man who’s used to the universe giving him nice things and then taking them away immediately, that it isn’t going to last. He and Ashe finish dinner, and it’s pleasant and quiet, with Ashe sitting next to him and the sky ablaze with stars, the moon so bright it makes Ashe’s hair glow like it caught some and spun it into silk. 

A fanciful thought, maybe. But it’s the sort of night that lends itself to that sort of thing, doesn’t it? Either way, it’s no hardship to look at Ashe, leaning back on his elbows with his head tipped up, looking at the stars.

“I know there used to be nights like this during the war, and the Goddess knows I camped enough times to have seen them, but somehow I don’t remember it ever looking like this,” says Ashe. 

Yuri smiles a bit. “Well. That could be the terror of battle, you know, it makes it hard to concentrate.” 

“You’d think, though, if you might die the next day, you’d take a little time to appreciate them,” says Ashe, that hint of sadness in his voice that comes up whenever he talks about the war, or the man who should be here with him now, whose collar Ashe should be wearing. 

Yuri tells himself to stop thinking about that. It’s counter-productive to what he’s trying to do, and this is just a favor. Like so many other things in his life, it’s a favor given and a favor owed, and Yuri will have to remember that -- no matter _how_ pretty Ashe looks in the moonlight. 

“I wonder how Felix ended up in Almyra,” Ashe says, glancing over at him. He really does have beautiful eyes, wide and thickly-lashed, and they give him a perpetually innocent look that Yuri suspects Ashe is completely aware of and uses without compunction.

The thought makes him smile. “I actually know the answer to that, starling. Want me to tell you?” 

“Well, yes, unless it’s...is there a reason you wouldn’t?” Ashe tilts his head. 

“I don’t know that it’s a happy story,” Yuri says. “How much do you know about what happened during the war, with Felix?” 

Ashe swallows. “I know there were some people who said he was a traitor because he wasn’t there. But I never believed that,” he adds, quickly. “If Felix didn’t fight at Dimitri’s side, he would have had a reason.” 

“I can’t speak to his motivation, but I can tell you that he didn’t fight and that he made a deal with Edelgard. That his soldiers be involved in helping rebuild, and not held accountable for fighting the Empire’s incursions into Fraldarius territory.” Yuri reaches out and gently strokes a hand through Ashe’s hair. “I know these were friends of yours. If you want, we can skip this part.” 

“No, I’d like to know. I’ll ask Felix, of course, but...it’d be good to hear the basics,” Ashe agrees, leaning toward his touch. 

“I know most of this from Balthus, who’s with Holst Goneril -- do you remember Hilda, from school?” 

“Ah. Yes.” Ashe chuckles. He has a nice laugh. “She was always trying to get people to do her chores and make her tea.” 

“She’s married to Claude, or, I suppose, King Khalid.” 

Ashe smiles. “So she’s a queen? All that was good practice, then, I imagine.” 

Yuri laughs softly. “I guess so. Anyway, she told Holst a bit of this story, that Felix left Fraldarius territory after the Empire showed up to begin rebuilding, and went to Enbarr. I think probably because he didn’t have anywhere else to go, though I’m not entirely sure about that, either.” 

“Oh,” Ashe says, softly. “I wish I would have. Known that.” 

Yuri strokes his hair again. “At some point, the Emperor sent him to Almyra. I’m not sure if he went as a political prisoner or what, but he was sent to Claude and ended up becoming his submissive.” 

“Is it -- was he -- did he want to?” Ashe says, sounding worried. “It’s just so strange. I knew Felix was a submissive, but he was always...I thought he and Dimitri, but that’s...of course that wouldn’t have worked. I admit when I heard he didn’t fight I thought it more likely he’d been killed. I couldn’t believe that he was a traitor. But I could see him staying behind if it meant saving his people. Felix always -- cared more about that. Than serving just because of who he was. It’s only that I thought there were feelings, there. Between them.” 

Yuri hadn’t known that, but it would make sense. He’d barely known Felix; his memories of him are mostly of a scowling, dark-haired lithe young man who was always in the training room. “Maybe there were. Maybe that’s why he didn’t fight. If he loved Dimitri, maybe he didn’t want to see him die.” 

“No,” Ashe says, in a dull voice. “I think if they -- had feelings, strong ones, they would have been there. To see it end.” 

“Ah, starling.” Yuri moves closer, tipping Ashe’s face up by the chin. “I’m sorry. I didn’t -- that wasn’t well done of me. Perhaps we should discuss other things. All this time you’ve been waiting to see the stars, I shouldn’t bring you right back to the war so much that you can’t enjoy them.” 

Ashe shakes his head. “It’s all right, I asked. But maybe, let’s not...I’d rather not talk about the war.” 

“Of course. Well, maybe this’ll lighten your mood -- Holst read one of Hilda’s letters, written shortly after Felix arrived in the capital. Apparently he and Claude had immediate chemistry and Felix drove Claude crazy trying to figure him out, bring him to heel.” Yuri chuckles. 

Ashe does smile at that; not quite one of his brighter, unfettered grins, but close. “I can imagine. I didn’t know Claude at all, but Felix was never...Annette told me once that he was the cactus of submissives.” 

Yuri laughs. “Almyra is hot, or at least, it is near the capital. That makes sense. But from what Holst and Balthus told me, Felix took Claude’s collar willingly. It sounds as if he’s happy, there.” 

That _does_ make Ashe grin. “Good. I admit I’m still surprised that it’s _Claude_ of all people, but I’m glad it’s made him happy. Felix never seemed very happy about being a submissive.”

“I didn’t know him, starling, but the impression I got was that he wasn’t happy about much,” Yuri drawls. 

Ashe shakes his head with a rueful laugh. “It did come across that way, but that’s just how he was. I’ll be glad to see him, though. Thank you for telling me.” 

“Of course.” Yuri tilts his face up and kisses him again. “I heard that Felix and Claude visited Fhirdiad not too long ago, so perhaps he’s made his peace with the war.” As much as that were possible, anyway. 

Ashe exhales slowly. “That’s good to hear. At least someone has.” 

He still looks a bit unsettled, which Yuri certainly doesn’t want. “Starling, we’re heading into the Hrym mountains tomorrow, and I doubt we’ll have this nice weather again until we get to Almyra. Then it’ll just be hot, if it’s anything like Kupala. Why don’t you lay back and look your fill at those stars, hmm?” He puts a gentle command in his voice but it’s almost unnecessary; Ashe goes to his back almost before Yuri’s finished speaking. 

“Good,” Yuri praises. “That’s good.” He lays on his side, propped on his elbow, strokes his fingers over Ashe’s cheek, down his jaw. “You look very pretty like this, on your back for me in the starlight.” 

Ashe draws in a slow breath. Yuri can see him swallow. “I, ah. Thank you.” 

“Is this all right?” Yuri asks, fingers rubbing over Ashe’s slightly-parted lips. 

Ashe nods, his eyes wide, and Yuri gives in to the temptation and leans in to kiss him. These are all things they’ve done, all within the boundaries they’ve discussed. Desire sparks and settles warm over him, and Yuri lets his kisses linger, deepens them because Ashe responds so sweetly, his mouth parting beneath Yuri’s. 

Normally, this is when Yuri would pull back, pet Ashe’s hair, suggest they get some sleep. But the heavy talk and the stars and the knowledge they’ll be slugging through mud soon enough has him lingering over it, stroking Ashe’s neck and feeling the leather of his collar with a shiver of his own. How long it’s been, since he’s done this with someone?

Yuri reminds himself, again, that this is all a transaction, a ruse. But just as he goes to move away, Ashe makes this _sound_ , quiet but desperate, and he feels Ashe’s fingers tentatively on his shoulder, curling into his shirt and pulling him closer. 

What can he do but oblige? Yuri leans over him and kisses him harder, then pulls back and tilts Ashe’s head back to mouth at his neck. “You’re so sweet, starling.” The way Ashe gasps at the light touch of Yuri’s mouth to his neck makes Yuri’s cock start to harden. “You like that?” 

“Yes,” Ashe says. His clever, quick fingers settle on Yuri’s shoulder. “Is that okay?” 

“Of course. You can touch me.” He kisses Ashe again, and while he really does mean to keep it lazy and soft, it very quickly turns into something else. His tongue presses into Ashe’s mouth, and Ashe _moans_ , and kisses him back with heat while his fingers slide up into Yuri’s hair. 

“Want to pull my hair, starling?” Yuri murmurs, aroused and amused, and ah, Goddess, they should stop but he doesn’t want to. Not just yet. 

“Not pull,” Ashe says, and he’s got a delightful, teasing rasp to his voice that _does_ things to Yuri. “Just touch. It’s, ah. Pretty. Like the rest of you.” 

“You’re a flatterer, is that it?” Yuri rests a hand on Ashe’s chest, and he can feel how hard Ashe’s heart is beating, quick against his palm. 

“Not really. And it’s not like you don’t know it,” Ashe teases, with a little _smirk_ that Yuri both didn’t expect and finds he likes quite a bit. 

“Maybe. I’ve heard it a time or two.” Yuri flashes a grin down at him, sliding two fingers into Ashe’s mouth and inhaling a sharp breath as Ashe sucks on them. Yuri pulls them free, then draws them down Ashe’s cheek -- it’s subtle but a dominance gesture all the same, and Ashe reacts to it beautifully, arching up a bit and gasping. 

Pulling those sounds out of Ashe, making him gasp and arch beneath the starry sky, is far better than talking about a war that’s over and done with. “Want some more, starling?” 

“Please, yes,” Ashe says, so prettily that Yuri can do nothing but give it to him. 

Yuri kisses him, shifting so he’s leaning over Ashe, his hair falling forward over them both. “It’s all right if you want to touch me.” 

Ashe does it, slides a hand around Yuri’s neck and pulls him into another kiss. Yuri gives his lower lip a suck and pulls back, kissing down his neck and sliding a hand beneath the loose tunic Ashe is wearing, fingers gently brushing over the warm skin of Ashe’s stomach. 

“So sweet,” Yuri murmurs, kissing the leather above Ashe’s collar while he traces over the muscles of Ashe’s lower stomach. “Such a good boy for me, aren’t you?”

Ashe’s head goes back and he shows his throat, and Yuri sucks at Ashe’s neck gently, his hips pushing forward, his hard cock brushing against the side of Ashe’s hip. “Ah, starling. You’re getting me so hot, do you like that?” 

“I --” Ashe shifts restlessly beneath Yuri, and it’s clear that what he started to settle Ashe is working them _both_ up and that’s not what they need to be doing. It would be so easy to move his hand lower, see if Ashe is as hard as he is, stroke him off there under the dizzying sky so Ashe can settle and get some sleep. 

But they haven’t talked about this, and Yuri won’t have the first time he touches Ashe like that be while Ashe is half-under from Yuri’s kisses, the praise -- it makes him think about all the times he himself had his boundaries pushed or outright ignored, and he swore he’d never do that again. 

So as much as he hates to do it, Yuri slows it down. He eases back so he’s not rubbing his cock against Ashe’s hip, takes his hand from beneath Ashe’s shirt and keeps it firm on Ashe’s chest. He kisses him, but softly, turning it from heated to gentle while he tries to get Ashe settled; if he can’t make his cock happy, he can at least appease all the dominant instincts that are roused right now. 

“Shh, that’s it, good, settle for me, starling.” He’s whispering nonsense, stroking Ashe’s hair, and he could swear he gets a sulky look from Ashe before Yuri’s insistent attempts to ease him gently under start to work. On an instinct, he puts his hand around Ashe’s throat and squeezes; gently, not hard enough to restrict his air but enough so that he’ll feel it. 

“Ah --” Ashe’s eyes go vacant and he melts back into the blanket, face flushed, and there, that’s what Yuri wants. Ashe relaxed and boneless, not thinking about the war, not thinking about anything. Anything but Yuri. 

The logical part of Yuri’s brain says _this is dangerous, remember all he asked was you not make this something it isn’t. Remember he’s doing you a favor. At the end of the day he’s one more person you are going to owe. Someone to protect. Keep your word, Yuri-bird._

That the last sounds like Hapi, somehow, clears his head a little. He eases back, though he does keep petting Ashe -- and at one point, he glances down and sees that Ashe’s cock is hard and that almost, _almost_ makes Yuri say _fuck it_ and climb on top of him again. 

Instead, he focuses back on Ashe’s face, the glaze in his eyes, the tension easing from his muscles and his breathing slowing. His mouth is red from kissing and he’s still flushed, but eventually he blinks up at Yuri, quiet and calm. 

“We should get some sleep, starling.” Yuri gets to his feet, ruefully aware that he’s still half-hard and mentally preparing himself for a night sleeping next to Ashe in that condition. There’s not much to do about it, though. Stopping was the right choice, as difficult as it had been to do. 

Which is...unexpected, but perhaps their chemistry will only help sell their ruse. Except it didn’t feel like much of a ruse at the moment. 

_Biology. It’s a bitch._ Yuri tilts his head up, but the clouds have started to move back in; enough that he’s sure they’ll fill the sky before sunrise. A metaphor, a warning -- or just a coincidence. Either way, good to remember the rain always comes eventually.

***

By the time they clear the Hrym mountains and cross into Goneril territory, Ashe never wants to see mud again. He’s not sure when he last felt warm or dry--even the clothes in his satchel are damp to the touch from the constant rain--and he’s the sort of exhausted only a couple solid months of rest can cure. Unfortunately, rest is a luxury they can ill afford. They have another fortnight, at least, until they reach the palace in Almyra, and before then they have to cross Fódlan’s Throat and even _more_ mountains. 

Ashe has never been to the desert, but he longs for it now, if only so the heat will stop his teeth from chattering and leach the clamminess out of his tunic and breeches. The wool chafes at his skin so that every inch feels raw and in need of a good, thick salve. He’s desperate for a hot bath and _soap_ and a bed that isn’t on the hard, rocky ground. It’ll be quite a while before he gets any of those things, and that knowledge makes Ashe want to lie down on the side of the road and just shut his eyes for a week.

Of course, even if he could, he wouldn’t do it anyway. He’s long accustomed to hardship, and he’ll endure, as he always does. But it’s possible, Ashe concedes, the two years since the war have made him a bit soft. He’d nearly forgotten what it felt like to be this weary, to feel weak to his bones and _ache_ from hunger. They’d been rationing supplies for days now. There wasn’t much prey in the mountains--some birds, the occasional goat, a rare fox or two--and even fewer places to stop and replenish supplies aside from a few tiny villages that didn’t take very kindly to strangers. 

For his part, Yuri isn’t faring much better. Ashe can’t remember the last time he applied any makeup, and Yuri eventually got so frustrated with the wet, bedraggled hair hanging in his face, he let Ashe braid it back. He looks younger this way, vulnerable, as if he’s missing his armor, but there’s little reason for either of them to be concerned with something as trivial as appearances now. Besides, Ashe likes seeing this side of him, too. Even wearing soggy clothing and bare-faced, Yuri’s prettier than he has any right to be.

About halfway into their trek through Goneril, the rain finally stops again. The sun breaks through the clouds for the first time in days, and they spot a glimmering surface in the distance. Ashe is cranky, exhausted, _damp_ , but even so, curiosity propels his steps until they come across a small lake. Really, it’s more of a big pond than anything, but the water looks clear and refreshing, and Ashe can’t bear the thought of moving on without taking advantage.

Mud cakes his boots and the lower legs of his breeches. Goddess knows what he smells like, and he’s sweating to top it off, with the sun now beating down. Even if the water is freezing and he has to scrub himself clean with handfuls of silt, he’s getting in that lake. The last sliver of their lavender soap may be long gone, but simply rinsing off will be far better than nothing at all.

“Can we rest here for a while?” He glances over his shoulder at Yuri. “I can set something to simmer over the fire while we get clean. I, ah... I don’t think I can take another hour like _this_.” His gesture encompasses his entire body, the filthy boots, the soiled, tattered overcoat draped over his satchel.

Yuri nods, staring out over the lake. “That sounds perfect, starling.”

“I’ll start a fire and put some soup together, if you want to get cleaned up first,” Ashe offers. It’ll take a while for the dried meat strips to soften, and he can use the time to search the area for some root vegetables or mushrooms or anything else he can add to make it more filling. They won’t have much choice but to find a town soon, maybe stop at an inn for a decent meal and a night of sleep under an actual roof, now that they’re much less likely to encounter imperial soldiers, but for the time being, they’ll have to make do.

“Don’t wander off too far,” Yuri tells him. “Stay within earshot, all right?”

“Of course.”

Yuri starts toward the lake, taking his sword and bags with him. Ashe puts down his own belongings and hunts for a relatively dry spot to set up the fire. Once he’s found it, he gathers a few logs and manages to create a spark with the only reason spell he’s ever mastered. It’s still difficult to get the logs burning with how wet everything is, but he manages eventually and hangs their little iron pot over the burgeoning flames, filling it with the water from their canteens. He saw a little stream that feeds into the lake where he can refill them later. For now, he tears the remainder of their smoked meat into strips and tosses the pile inside the pot to begin softening. His search of the area proves mostly fruitless, but he does find a handful of chanterelles and adds them to the broth along with the one wilted turnip he dug out from the bottom of his satchel. The soup won’t be very tasty--he doesn’t have any salt, let alone more varied spices for additional seasoning--but it’ll ease the ache in their bellies, and that’s all that really matters.

When Yuri returns, dressed in clean clothing, hair loose and damp around his face, the broth is just starting to bubble at the edges.

Ashe stands and frets with the belt around his waist. “It’ll be a while yet before it’s ready. I--I was wondering if you’d remove my collar so I can bathe without it? I’m not sure about that lake water, and I’d like to scrub my neck too, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure, starling.” Yuri sets his possessions on the ground near where Ashe’s satchel, bow, and quiver rest. “Come here, then. Put your back to me and hold your hair out of the way.”

Ashe obeys and lifts his braid to allow Yuri unfettered access to his collar.

“Good.” Yuri’s fingers brush his nape, lingering for a few seconds. 

A shiver runs down Ashe’s spine, and he bows his head, breathing hard through his nose. The entire area is so exquisitely sensitive, for him and he imagines every other submissive. Having a dominant’s hands there does things to his body, makes him want to both bare his throat and go to his knees in supplication. It’s just instinct, he knows this, but it’s a powerful urge all the same. 

The leather loosens as the buckle is unclasped. It’s what he asked for, thinking only of protecting the collar from water damage and feeling a breeze on his bare neck for the first time in weeks, but the moment the leather lifts away from his skin, Ashe makes an involuntary sound, a muffled half-whimper at the weight and security of it suddenly being gone. He drops his braid, wanting to turn around and yank the collar away from Yuri, slap it back in place and re-do the buckle himself. That, or beg Yuri to replace it immediately.

Before he can give in to either impulse, Yuri rests a hand on his lower back. “Shh, it’s okay, starling.” He steps closer, his body heat causing Ashe to shiver again. 

Ashe restlessly flexes his hands at his sides. Oh. Oh, Goddess, he hadn’t anticipated how _wrong_ it would feel to have the collar removed. He hasn’t been wearing it that long, and besides, it’s not _real_. It’s part of a costume for a role he’s playing. Nothing more.

Tell that to the heart pounding erratically in his chest.

Chapped lips brush Ashe’s nape, just beside the rope of his braid. “I have the collar,” Yuri says, calm but firm. “It’s yours. I’ll keep it safe, and we’ll put it right back on when you’re finished. All right?”

Ashe keeps his head down, stills his trembling fingers, and forces himself to breathe. The loss of composure leaves him feeling utterly foolish. He shouldn’t be this attached to a temporary collar already, but he can’t subvert his own biology or quell the instincts that come along with it--not entirely, at least. It’s only natural he’d feel this way. Yuri won’t think less of him; he’s sure of that.

If he has to repeat those words in his head until he believes them, he will.

Ashe swallows the thickness in his throat and nods. “All right. I’ll just… I’ll go.” He walks to his belongings, grabs his satchel. He very carefully doesn’t look at Yuri because if he does, he’s not sure he can resist the temptation to try to grab the collar, still, even as he inwardly berates himself for being ridiculous.

It’s harder than it should be to walk away. Yuri won’t let anything happen to the collar, and he won’t take it away permanently. Not yet. For now, it’s _his_. Ashe can be without it for half an hour. It’s fine.

He kneels down at the water’s edge and rifles through the satchel for the cleanest of his shirts and underthings. Of course, clean is relative at this point, but he’ll settle for something drier and less smelly than what he’s currently wearing. 

A pair of large, flat boulders dominate a fair portion of the shoreline. Ashe sets his fresh clothing atop one of them, strips, and then takes his dirty tunic and breeches into the water with him. He rinses them out as best he can and arranges them on the other boulder to dry. Later, he’ll hang them on tree branches closer to the fire.

Ashe glances heavenward, mouth twisted dubiously. _Please rain, stay away for a few more hours_.

Leaving the clothes behind, he drifts out into the deeper water, undoes his braid, and slips under the surface. There’s only so much he can do without soap, but he scrubs at his scalp with his nails, drags his palms down his body, under his arms. The water is warmer than he anticipated, and it feels good. The temperature and the relief of washing away layers of sweat and grime, of being _clean_ , even accomplish the task of distracting him from the bareness of his neck for a time.

Ashe floats on his back, arms and legs spread, and stares up at the sky. A handful of puffy clouds disrupt the cornflower blue, but it’s mostly clear, and he sends up a little prayer it’ll stay that way while they sleep. The tent does little to protect them from rain any heavier than a drizzle, and he’s well beyond tired of shivering beneath damp, musty blankets or being startled awake when droplets unexpectedly hit his face in the dead of night.

“This will be over soon,” he murmurs to himself, his voice partially muffled by the water in his ears. “You’ve endured worse than this.”

Something to remember when his feet are aching and his stomach cramps for want of food. He’s survived so much worse than traveling on foot or camping out in the wilderness. He’s lived through warfare and bloodshed. This is nothing, and it’ll be worth _everything_ if he and Yuri can help the others who’ve been displaced like themselves. There must be dozens, maybe even hundreds of them. They deserve to be safe, to have a place to call home, just like everyone else.

But that’s a worry for later. Ashe tries to push the thoughts away, to empty his mind completely. He deserves to take a moment, just for himself. 

In the water, he actually feels good, and it’s been _weeks_ since he experienced anything but exhaustion and hunger. He’s free of the clammy wool that rubbed his skin raw. The cool lakewater alleviates the soreness of his blistered feet, slides over him like a soothing caress. Ashe catches his breath, relishing the sensation but longing for another type of touch. 

He swims a bit closer to shore, glancing around. Yuri is nowhere to be seen. Neither is anyone else. He’s naked and completely alone, for now.

Now is good enough.

Ashe stands and tips his head back. The water only reaches his upper thighs here, and the delicate breeze raises goosebumps across his flesh. Ashe lets his fingers move down his abdomen, tracing the sparse trail of hair beneath his navel to his soft cock.

It begins to stiffen under the attention, and Ashe stifles a moan.

He’s never been with anyone else or let anyone touch him even as much as Yuri has, but that doesn’t mean he’s kept his hands off himself. Ashe knows his body, and he loves giving himself pleasure, whenever he has the time and, more importantly, the privacy to do so. He’d grown accustomed to having his own quarters at House Verrall. No one ever disturbed him in his tiny attic room--until Yuri appeared on his bed.

Ashe whimpers, curling his fingers around his stiffening length. He likes the thought of Yuri in his bed. Of being in _Yuri’s_ bed, being under him. But since that starry night before they started their slog through the Hrym mountains, Yuri hasn’t gone any farther than soft kisses and gentle petting. Ashe hasn’t gotten to feel Yuri above him, or Yuri’s hard cock against his hip. He’s not sure what it means--that Yuri stopped, that he hasn’t tried again. Was it a fluke? Yuri called Ashe gorgeous, but words didn’t always mean much, did they? Lots of people called Ashe lots of things.

Once again, Ashe closes his eyes and tries to clear his mind, to focus solely on his own desires and nothing else. He can’t think about Yuri while he touches himself, when Yuri isn’t _truly_ his dominant, and he’s made it clear the situation won’t ever be anything more than what it already is. Not only Yuri--they’d both agreed to the terms of their deal. So the idea of fantasizing about Yuri doesn’t sit well with Ashe. He can’t see it as anything but inappropriate, given the circumstances. Yuri doesn’t belong to him, or rather, Ashe doesn’t belong to _Yuri_ in any way beyond the superficial. They aren’t really together, although it’s becoming harder and harder for Ashe to remember this fact when he wears Yuri’s collar around his neck and spends every night at his side.

Ashe groans and lets go of his cock in frustration. He can’t do it. He won’t. He--

“Who told you to stop?”

Ashe’s eyes fly open. He looks toward the shore, and there sits Yuri on the boulder beside Ashe’s clean clothing. He’s got his legs crossed at the ankles, and he’s leaning back on his hands. On his thigh rests Ashe’s collar.

“Oh.” Ashe licks his lips. Caught in the act… or well, caught giving up in the middle, but his cock is still hard, and the problem doesn’t seem to be going away with Yuri staring at him.

“Cat got your tongue, little starling?” Yuri tilts his head.

“Ah. I was just--” Ashe waves his hand vaguely. He’s close enough to Yuri he can see amusement brighten Yuri’s lavender eyes.

“I know what you were doing. I said who told you to stop.”

There’s a hint of command in his voice. Nothing strong enough to try to compel Ashe, just a suggestion of dominance, but Ashe wants it so bad, he’s got his cock back in his hand before he even thinks about asking questions.

“That’s it,” Yuri says. “Good. I can help get you off, if that’s what you want.”

Ashe’s mouth goes dry. “From there?”

Yuri nods. “From right here.”

Ashe hesitates, his cock pulsing against his palm. He wouldn’t have thought he’d enjoy being watched; apparently, his body is determined to prove him wrong in that regard. But truly, what he wants most, what he wants _desperately_ , is to be touched. He’s starving for the feel of Yuri’s hands on him, skin to skin, especially when he recalls Yuri’s fingers moving on his bare belly that night so many days ago.

When Ashe doesn’t move, Yuri leans forward. “If you want to stop this now, we stop. I’ll go back to the fire, and you’ll finish your bath. If you want to continue, we’ll do it my way.”

Ashe takes a step closer. “Will you touch me, later?”

“If you want my hands on you, we’ll talk about it when you’re not under. That conversation has to happen with both of our heads clear, understand?”

Ashe nods slowly. He understands, and he both likes it and loathes it. He likes that Yuri respects him enough to want this to happen when he’s not needy and distracted by lust. At the same time, he wants Yuri to just get into the water and replace Ashe’s hand on his cock with his own. But if this is what he can have for now, he’ll take it. “Okay.”

Yuri leans back on his palms again. “Then, continue. Show me how you touch yourself, pretty.”

Heat blooms in Ashe’s cheeks, but he obeys, starting up a slow stroke. He keeps his attention on Yuri’s face even while Yuri’s gaze strays from where Ashe is touching himself to his chest, up to his neck and higher. Yuri’s little smirk when their eyes meet makes Ashe squeeze the base of his cock so he doesn’t come all over himself just from this.

“What else do you do when you’re alone, pet?” Yuri asks. “Show me.”

Ashe reaches up with his free hand to brush a thumb across his nipple. When the bud tightens, he squeezes it, only hard enough to make it throb and draw a hiss from his throat. He isn’t into pain--he’s not a masochist--but this, this is just a tease, a tiny flash of discomfort to heighten the pleasure. Ashe gives the other nipple the same treatment, adding a little twisting pinch as his other hand speeds up on his cock.

“Look at you,” Yuri says softly. “You’re so good for me, aren’t you? Such a sweet, pretty boy. You like that? You like playing with your tits?”

Ashe makes a strangled noise, and his face _burns_ , but his cock jerks in his grip. He nods, breathless, and takes another step toward Yuri. They’re still more than a body’s length apart, but he forces himself to stop there, to respect the boundaries Yuri set forth.

“What else?” Yuri sits forward and runs Ashe’s collar through his fingers. “Do you ever put anything inside you?”

“Y-yes.”

“What do you use, starling? Toys?”

“Sometimes,” Ashe admits. He bites his lower lip, rubbing the heel of his palm over the tender crown of his cock, smearing the beads of fluid that gathered at his slit. “My fingers, mostly.”

“Later, when we have an actual bed and some nice, slippery oil, I’ll have you show me that, too. I’d like to see you with your thighs spread, fucking that sweet little hole of yours. Maybe I’ll suck your cock while you do it, huh? I can take you all the way down, all the way into my throat. Would you like that?”

Ashe can’t answer coherently; he’s coming before Yuri even finishes the question. 

He cries out, head tossed back, and the sound of it echoes. 

“So sexy.” Yuri’s voice is deeper than ever. “So _good_. I want to do so much to you, starling.”

“I--I want it, too,” Ashe stammers out, still fisting his cock.

Emboldened by the weight of Yuri’s heavy, approving stare, Ashe lets go of his softening length, lifts his hand, and shoves two spend-slick fingers in his mouth. It’s not the first time he’s tasted his release, but it is the first time he’s done it with someone else watching, and it sends a rough shiver of pleasure cascading down his back.

Yuri’s eyes darken while his lips crook up in another hot, dirty smirk. “Just look at you, pretty boy. So perfect for me. I want to destroy you.”

Ashe trembles and pushes his fingers in deeper, pressing down on his tongue, deep enough he feels a flutter at the back of his throat and almost gags. He moans, remembering the starry night when Yuri did this to him and dragged his spit-wet fingers across Ashe’s cheek afterward.

“That’s it,” Yuri says, the words drenched in warm praise. “Get it all, every drop. Put on a show for me.”

Ashe’s eyelids slide half-shut, and he obeys on instinct, lapping up the rest of his come as seductively as he knows how.

“Come here, gorgeous.” Yuri holds up the collar. “Let’s dry you off and put this back on you, yeah?”

Ashe nods dazedly and drifts closer, caught in that dreamy, languid place Yuri sent him to before, when he put his hand on Ashe’s throat.

Yuri helps him step from the water, kisses him softly on the mouth, and dries Ashe with a shirt he recognizes as one of Yuri’s. He’s quick but gentle, and there’s nothing sexual about it, just simple caretaking. After, he helps Ashe dress as Ashe stands there in his floaty, peaceful haze.

“Can you kneel, starling?” Ashe nods, lowering himself to the gravel-covered shore. It’s not particularly graceful, but Yuri hums with approval and moves behind him. He gathers Ashe’s hair in one fist and says, “Hold this for me.”

Ashe reaches up to replace Yuri’s hand with his own, holding his dripping hair aloft as Yuri fastens the collar around his throat. Once it’s in place, he squeezes the back of Ashe’s neck, a brief, firm massage. 

“Good boy.”

Ashe sighs and releases his hair, letting it fall over his back. He touches the collar immediately, curls his fingertip beneath the leather and tugs just to test that it’s secure. The buckle holds--of course, it does--and the collar stays exactly where it should be.

“Thank you,” Ashe whispers. Having the collar back where it belongs settles him even more. He leans forward, resting his forehead against Yuri’s thigh when Yuri circles around to stand in front of him.

“Come on, beautiful,” Yuri says, his hands stroking over Ashe’s hair. “I came to get you because the soup looks about done. Let’s get you fed, huh?”

Ashe nods and lets himself be pulled to his feet and led back to the warmth of the fire.

***

If Yuri never sees mud again, he’ll die a happy man. 

By the time they cross over to Fódlan’s Throat, he is absolutely ready to pledge his eternal allegiance to Claude von Riegan -- or, King Khalid, he supposes -- simply for turning the former military stronghold into a thriving trading post. Because that means there are places to get out of the rain, have a decent meal and even get a night’s rest in a private caravan. 

Yuri doesn’t care that they’re outrageously expensive to book; he’s so tired of the rain he shells out for the nicest one, and a fresh breakfast for the morning. There’s a bathing house and it doesn’t have private rooms, but Yuri doesn’t care. He pays the entrance fee and they duck in. “I used to hate the sauna back at Garreg Mach,” he says, nearly salivating at the thought of a bath. “Turns out I hate the rain more.” 

Ashe gives a little grin and shakes his head. Yuri is still thinking about him in the lake, the way he’d looked coming in the water, shaking and fisting his pretty cock while letting Yuri watch. He’s cold, miserable, hungry and sleep-deprived and it _still_ has him aroused to think about. 

There're a few people in the baths, though most of them are Almyran -- at least Yuri assumes, given he sort of recognizes the language they’re speaking -- and they barely give him and Ashe a glance as they move to the small cubbies to strip. Yuri feels grimy and can barely wait to get into the water. 

“Should I --” Ashe touches his fingers to his collar, glancing at Yuri, keeping his voice carefully lowered. 

Yuri looks around. There’s no one else here but the Almyrans who are laughing with each other, at ease, and completely ignoring the two dirty, bedraggled Fódlaners standing off in the corner. No reason Ashe can’t take off the collar, even if it’s fine to wear in the steamy hot bath. 

“Leave it, starling,” Yuri says. “Unless you’re uncomfortable. We should get used to having you wear it always, we’ll need to when we’re in Almyra.” 

Ashe drops his hand and gives a nod. “Of course. I don’t mind.” He smiles a little, and then it turns into a grin. “You’ve got dirt on your face. I never would have imagined that.” 

Yuri crosses his arms, but his mock glare is ruined -- mostly likely -- by both the dirt and his mouth twitching up into a smile. “You’ve got dirt in your hair, pet. Into the water with you. Backtalk and I’ll have to spank you.” He winks, clearly teasing, but there’s something about the way Ashe’s pretty eyes spark, the sharp inhale of breath, that says maybe he might like that. 

Not a harsh spanking, Yuri’s caused enough pain to last a lifetime. He reaches out and gives Ashe’s hair a tug. “Let’s get in. I think we’ve earned it, yeah?” 

Ashe grins and nods, and they strip down -- Yuri feels so grimy that he doesn’t want to wrap a clean towel around his hips, so he doesn’t bother -- and wade into the hot water. It’s spring-fed and almost _too_ hot, and Yuri groans in both pleasure and pain as the water and steam envelop him. 

“Did they used to fling buckets of this water at each other when they fought border skirmishes here?” Yuri asks, his skin on fire from the heat. Ashe is biting his bottom lip, stoically, clearly in the same position of loving the hot water and wanting to scream from just _how_ hot it is. 

“Springs, on the Almyran side,” Ashe manages. “Pretty sure, I mean.” He shudders. “This is. Awful but also, ah, good? It’s so. So hot. Do they have cooler baths maybe, in Almyra?” 

“Here’s hoping.” Yuri stands very still and tries not to breathe too deeply, or blink, really move in any meaningful way. “My skin’s boiling off.” 

He hears a laugh behind him and a rapid-fire conversation in swift Almyran, and one of the men says, “Fódlan, eh, you like your snow too much!” The others laugh, but there’s nothing mean about it. Good-natured teasing comes along with open borders, probably. 

“I don’t much care for the snow, either,” Yuri calls, hoping it’s not going to start a war if he doesn’t turn around. 

“I have seen only the -- the, ah,” the chatty one says, and speaks in Almyran again. Yuri knows a bit, but they don’t seem to be speaking a dialect he understands. “The soft snow, little snow? What do you call this, Fódlaner?” 

“Flurries,” Yuri says. “And it’s Yuri, friend.” He finally turns around, mostly because he feels strange shouting at Ashe. 

“Flurries,” the Almyran says, slowly. He repeats it to his friends. They don’t seem as enamored of this new word as the Almyran. “Yuri. Flurries, Yuri? Ah.” He laughs and moves toward them, and Yuri really wishes he wouldn’t only because he stirs the water when he does and the sudden waves aren’t helping. “I am Zana. You know Almyran?” 

“I know little of the language,” Yuri says, carefully. So much Almyran is in the tones. Claude won’t want to negotiate with Yuri about anything if he ruins his peace plans in a bathing house on the border. 

The man’s dark eyes light up. He’s handsome -- about Yuri’s height, lean and muscular, with a respectable beard and more than a few scars, and probably ten or so years older than Yuri. He bows, and Yuri bows back even though he doesn’t want to put his upper body closer to the water. 

“Your --” Zana pauses, touches his neck. “What is the Fódlan?” 

“Submissive,” Yuri supplies.

“Yes, hello, there, Submissive of Yuri.” He peeks around Yuri to wave at Ashe. 

“Hi,” Ashe says. “Nice to meet you.” 

“Yes! Ah, this is nice. The baths. Too hot but I think I will be the same, in the snow, when it is more than flurries. So I will not laugh too much at you.” 

“Thanks much,” Yuri drawls, and Zana laughs again. 

“You come here to trade at the market? All kinds of things, here. I have a stand, good weapons, if you need them. Good food here, too. Better than Fódlan. We have spices.” 

Yuri remembers Claude in the dining room, back at the monastery, bemoaning how everything was boiled. “We’ll try some tomorrow.” He breathes out, slow and easy. He’s getting used to the temperature, and his hair is starting to drip, probably making the mud on his face worse. 

“Best to just, ah.” Zana makes the motion of going under the water like it’s tepid instead of scalding. 

It’s not a challenge but it feels like one, so Yuri sinks under the water and exhales in a fury of bubbles as the water slides up and over his head. He scratches his fingers through his hair and honestly, it does feel good. Better now, even if he can feel the heat of the water pressing on his eyelids. Can this much hot water boil your eyes? Huh. 

He stands back up and feels vaguely triumphant, even if his new friend is grinning like maybe that was a dare. But the joke’s on him, because he does feel better. 

“Good! That was good.” Zana grins. “You go to Almyra, yes?” At Yuri’s nod, he seems even more pleased. “Yes, you should. You go to the desert -- hotter than the springs, ha ha! I’ll go see snow. War is over. Time to see the nice things about your country.” His eyes slide across Yuri to Ashe, who is still standing back and likely trying to get used to the water. He grins. “He’s pretty.” 

“Yes,” Yuri says, and his natural command bleeds out. “And he’s mine.” 

Zana gives another bow. “Yes, yes. I see the - the thing.” He touches his throat. “Our king, he has one like yours, pretty, that wears that. His queen has one, too. She sings to the birds, the wyverns. Does yours?” 

“Mine sings with arrows and plays locks with his clever fingers,” says Yuri. He doesn’t say it out loud, but he makes it clear with his voice -- _I don’t share._

Zana grins at him and glances, once, over his shoulder. When he speaks, it’s in Almyran. “Mine are good and wash my back, my hair. It is good to meet you. Different in the baths than on the battlefield, eh, Yuri?” 

“Indeed, friend,” Yuri says, and bows. “Peace is a strange thing. But I’m looking forward to seeing your country without war.” 

“Same, same. Travel safe, Fódlaner. There are things that prowl the desert at night. Not as nice as me, hmm?” He nods at Ashe and says, in Fódlan, “May your arrows strike true, collared one of Yuri. Goodbye.” 

“I didn’t know you spoke Almyran,” Ashe says, later, as they settle in their caravan after dinner. Both of them are clean and wearing the soft silk robes left for them in the closet, and Ashe is sitting on one of the elaborate pillows at Yuri’s feet while Yuri feeds him from a plate of fruit and meat. 

“I don’t speak much,” Yuri says, cleaning his fingers with a damp cloth before he runs them through Ashe’s still-damp silver hair. “But Balthus taught me some, since he spent so much time near here, and he says it’s similar to Kupalan.” 

“Well, that’s good,’ Ashe says, neatly piling up the dishes and placing them to the side. “It’s probably helpful if one of us does. It’s odd to think this used to be a battlefield, isn’t it? Good for Claude for changing things. Even if I can’t quite believe he’s the king. How’d nobody figure that out?” 

“I’m not even sure, myself,” says Yuri. He’s a bit annoyed, if he’s honest, that he _didn’t._ “I’ll be honest, I’ve never spent that much time around kings, but he didn’t have the same, say, presence as -- well.” He doesn’t want to mention Dimitri if he doesn’t have to. “He’s clever, that’s for sure.” Yuri doesn’t necessarily mean that as a compliment, but it’s not exactly an insult, either. 

It’s mostly that like recognizes like, and Yuri knows very well what those sorts of easy lies and vacant smiles are used to hide -- secrets you don’t want people to know. But he supposes things are different now, aren’t they? Claude’s no longer hiding who he is. It will be interesting to see if he’s changed from the sly-eyed, silver tongued bastard Yuri remembers from school. 

“Balthus had a crush on his mom,” Yuri adds, because that’s never going to not make him laugh. “Which, if you know Balthus, is completely predictable.” 

Ashe smiles. “I don’t know him well, but I’ll take your word for it. I wouldn’t have called Felix and Claude, I always thought Felix was interested in -- ah. Never mind.” Ashe’s smile doesn’t fade, exactly, but it dims enough that Yuri can figure out who he’s talking about. 

And he doesn’t like that, watching Ashe’s smile fade. Yuri reaches out and slides his fingers through Ashe’s silvery hair, then rubs a thumb over his bottom lip. “Pretty thing. We were supposed to talk, weren’t we?” He takes his hand away. “Maybe we should do that now. You’re too enticing, looking up at me like that.” 

That makes Ashe’s eyes brighten again and he gives a short nod, drawing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. “I, yes. Yes, we should.” 

“So pretty,” Yuri murmurs, indulgent, then leans back into a comfortable sprawl on the oversized chair. “Would you like me to do what we talked about, starling? Put my mouth on you?” 

Ashe’s breath goes a little short, but he doesn’t lower his gaze. “I - I would, yes. If you want to, and it’s not…pretend.” He does look away, then, down at the floor. 

“Trust me, starling. My wanting to put my mouth all over you is entirely selfish and purely motivated by how sweet you looked when you came, so desperate and pretty.” Yuri notices what the praise does to Ashe, how it makes his chin lift, pride beneath that lovely spill of color on his cheeks. 

“I’m not sure that I know how to...pleasure you, like that,” Ashe says, after a moment. “I wouldn’t want to do it wrong.” 

“I don’t think you _could_ do it wrong, but you don’t have to worry about that. I’ll show you how to use your hand, put those nimble fingers to work, how’s that?” Yuri puts just a touch of dominance in his voice, not enough to overwhelm but to ensure he’s getting his point across. “But if it feels bad, starling, you _will_ tell me and we’ll stop.” 

Ashe nods, then goes up on his knees and regards Yuri with a sharp, astute look. He says, with utter conviction, “I would never lie to you about that, all right? I know what I agreed to do and that this --” he touches his collar -- “is part of a story we’re telling. But I’m not going to tell you something feels good if it doesn’t.” There’s the briefest flash of something dark in his voice, a shadowed look in his eyes that Yuri recognizes all too well as the sort of desperation that comes from circumstances you can’t control no matter what your biology wants you to believe. 

But that’s not anything they need to think about now. That, or how Yuri’s starting to wonder how much of this game they’re playing is still a game at all -- he can’t deny the way it feels to have Ashe kneel for him, serving with that little smile, eager to have Yuri’s hands on him. It might just be biology, but he’s not sure it’s ever felt quite like this before, even with the few subs who received Yuri’s attentions more than once. 

And the part of Yuri that wants this plan to succeed knows that it will only help, if they have a natural physical bond...though he feels a curl of self-recrimination at even allowing himself to think that. But as Balthus always used to say, _a giant wolf can’t change its fur, Yuri._ A nonsensical metaphor, as most of Balthus’s are, really. But he takes the meaning nonetheless. Yuri is what he is. Survival has made it difficult to be any other way. But tonight isn’t about survival. Tonight, it can just be about pleasure, mutual satisfaction. They’ve earned it, after trudging through mud and rain for what feels like the entirety of Edelgard’s war. 

Yuri rises to his feet and holds out a hand to Ashe. “Then come lay down with me, pretty, and let me drive you wild. I’m told I’m very good with my mouth.” 

Ashe takes his hand, letting Yuri help him up even though he clearly doesn’t need it, lithe and limber thing that he is. He leans in and presses a kiss to Yuri’s cheek. “I believe it, but I’m looking forward to finding out for sure.” 

Yuri slides a hand through Ashe’s hair, still amused that in their bare feet, Ashe is just a bit taller than he is. “Take that off and lay on the bed, then, yeah? Let me see you on those rather garish sheets.” 

Ashe chuckles and reaches down to untie his robe, letting the silk fall from his shoulders and pool on the floor at his feet. “It’s very, ah. Committed to the aesthetic.” 

“What aesthetic is that? Mismatched?” 

Ashe laughs and turns to the caravan bed, which is draped with sheer red curtains, with orange pillows, red silk bedding and sheets a few shade darker than Ashe’s silver-green eyes. When he sprawls on the bed, cock already half-hard and wearing nothing but his collar, he looks like a diamond amidst so many paste jewels. 

“Do I get to see you, too?” Ashe asks, watching as Yuri approaches the bed. The eagerness, the obvious appreciation in his bright eyes, is clear. 

Yuri laughs and takes off his robe. “How could I say no to that?” He climbs on the bed, settles himself over Ashe and leans down to kiss him. “You’ll tell me to stop if you need me to, starling, yeah?” 

“I won’t need you to,” Ashe says, already breathless, kissing him back. “But yes.” He reaches up, carefully, and draws his fingers down Yuri’s face. “You can trust me.” 

Yuri veils his gaze for a moment -- trust doesn’t come easy for him, but he at least _wants_ to trust Ashe, which is more he can say for most people. “Thank you.” He presses a kiss to Ashe’s neck, then starts moving lower. “Now, you’re going to tell me exactly what you’re feeling, yeah? That’s what I want.” 

“Ah,” Ashe says, as Yuri bites and sucks at his nipples, already writhing on the sheets. “That’s -- mm. Can I - can I touch you?” 

“Good boy, asking me. You may.” Yuri looks up as he shifts lower on the sheets -- not silk, but surprisingly softer than the garish color might have suggested -- and adds, “You can pull my hair when I do this, but stop if I tell you to.” 

“Yes, I -- I will,” Ashe gasps, as Yuri starts pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses on his sternum, his lower chest, to the faint lines of musculature of his abs. 

“Look at you,” Yuri murmurs, settling between his spread legs and running his fingers lightly up Ashe’s inner thigh just to make him shake. “So hard and I haven’t even touched you yet. Do you know how impossible it was to just watch you in the lake?” He lightly draws two fingers down Ashe’s cock and smiles as Ashe shivers and moans immediately. “Gorgeous.” 

He’d intended on drawing this out, teasing Ashe until he was begging and desperate, but they’ve only just started and Ashe is already writhing and grasping at the sheets with one hand, the other frantically petting at Yuri’s hair like he’s a cat. Yuri leans down and just blows gently at the tip of Ashe’s swollen cock, and the noise that gets out of Ashe makes Yuri grind his own hardening erection into the bedding. 

“So eager, pretty thing, aren’t you?” He laughs. “I should bind your hands sometime with rope, you’d look so lovely, and we could see if your quick fingers can undo those knots faster than my quick tongue can undo _you_.” 

Ashe gives a wild little huff of a laugh. “I don’t think that’s -- going to be, ah. Much of a contest this time. Maybe for a - a few times.” 

“Yeah?” Yuri rubs lightly at the slick head of Ashe’s cock with his thumb, enjoying every twitch and shiver and moan. “We’ll work up to it. Why don’t you let me hear you beg me for it, pretty thing.” 

“Please,” Ashe says, immediately. 

Yuri draws two fingers up and down Ashe’s length, stopping just beneath the head of his cock. “Please, what, starling? Ask for what you want.” 

Watching Ashe’s face is delicious -- he bites his lip, his eyes close and he moves so much that Yuri has to press a hand on his hip and say, “Be still or I might think you’re trying to get away.” 

“Definitely -- definitely not that,” Ashe says, then swallows. The blush on his cheeks is too perfect, his eyes blurry, pupils blown. “Please put your mouth on me.” 

“Mm.” Yuri leans down and replaces his fingers with his mouth, the touch just as light, stopping the same place. “Like this?” 

He gets the slightest tug on his hair for that. “I -- what you said at the lake, I -- want that.” 

“I know you do, sweet thing,” Yuri murmurs, exhaling over Ashe’s cock and patting him gently on the hip. “You want me to suck your cock, take it deep, yeah?” 

“Goddess,” Ashe breathes, like a prayer. “ _Please_.” 

“Please what? And the Goddess isn’t here, but I am. Ready and willing, provided you ask me like I --” 

Ashe pulls on Yuri’s hair, harder, and says in a rush, “Please suck my cock.” 

Yuri blinks up at him, eyes wide. “Did you just _interrupt_ me?” 

“You talk a lot,” Ashe says, utterly serious, and it’s so delightful that Yuri almost laughs. 

“Ask me again,” Yuri says, because he can. 

“Please suck me,” Ashe asks, so sincerely that it makes something else ache, something Yuri guards as fierce as any treasure even if he’s long ago suspected it’s tarnished and no longer worthy of protecting. 

He takes Ashe’s cock in his mouth without any further teasing, going deep immediately. It’s not been that long since he’s done this -- Holst doesn’t mind sharing and likes to watch -- but it always take Yuri a second to get into the right headspace that he’s doing this because he wants to, that he’s in control, that he’s chosen to give this pleasure to someone. 

And Ashe, oh, the way he falls apart for Yuri is delicious. He moans and thrashes, pulling hard enough on Yuri’s hair that he’d stop him if it weren’t so utterly genuine, if Ashe weren’t so lost to the way it felt having Yuri deep-throat him. 

“Oh, that’s -- so -- you’re -- I’m not going to, this is too --” Ashe is babbling, thighs shaking, and when Yuri lets himself choke Ashe actually cries out, body going taut as his bowstring. 

He pulls back and flicks his tongue around the head, catching his breath and pushing Ashe’s hips down on the bed. “You like that, yeah?” 

“I, yes, yes, oh, please,” Ashe moans, lost to it, hair in his face and mouth parted as he shakes beneath Yuri. He’s so honest in his pleasure. 

“Pull my hair harder, sweetness,” Yuri murmurs, pressing a kiss to Ashe’s stomach. “Fuck my throat. Come in my mouth.” Sometimes he likes those things, sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes it reminds him of the times he did this when it wasn’t just because he wanted to, but there’s none of that, here. “What are you going to do for me, starling? Tell me.” 

“Pull your, your hair,” Ashe says, hips already trying to lift off the bed. “Fuck your throat. C-come in your mouth, ah, Yuri, please, I’m so - so close, don’t want to disobey, want to be good, so good for you--” 

Yuri can’t deny the thrill of heat he gets hearing that, all his dominance instincts lighting up as Ashe begs him for it. He takes him deep again, lets go of Ashe’s hips and hums around his cock while he chokes, makes it messy and wet, and it doesn’t take very long before Ashe _pulls_ his hair with both hands -- which is so hot, Yuri moans -- and comes down Yuri’s throat after a few thrusts of his hips. 

Yuri sucks him through it, easing off only when Ashe’s twitching seems more of the overstimulated variety. He sits up and grins down at the utterly wrecked, gorgeous submissive beneath him -- Ashe has his arms flung over his head, crossed at the wrists, and his chin is tipped back, showing his throat. 

“ _Good_ boy,” Yuri purrs, and gently strokes Ashe’s hair out of his face. He leans in and presses his mouth to Ashe’s, murmuring, “Do you taste yourself, starling? Mm. Go on.” He licks into Ashe’s mouth, fingers on his chin, making him taste himself on Yuri’s tongue. When he pulls back, Ashe is blinking up at, clearly under, arms still crossed at the wrist. “Next time I’ll take your come and give it back to you, make you swallow it. You’d do that for me, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Ashe murmurs, blinking. “I -- do you want me to -- can I do that for you?” 

“Oh, most certainly. But you have me so turned on, I don’t know that I’d last very long if you put that sweet little mouth of yours on me.” Yuri moves so he’s straddling Ashe’s chest. “Keep your arms just like that, good, that’s so good. Tip your chin up, that’s it. Let me see you.” 

Ashe blinks sort of hazily at him but does as instructed. Yuri slides his fingers into Ashe’s mouth. “I’ll let you bring me off next time, you earned it. Teach you just how to touch me, use your hand, this sweet mouth. But this time…” he fucks his fingers and out of Ashe’s mouth. “Get those nice and wet for me, good boy.” He slides his fingers deeper, careful not to make it too much but wanting to hear Ashe choke on them a little. 

Turnabout’s fair play, isn’t it? 

When his fingers are nice and wet, Yuri pulls his hand free and takes himself in hand. He kneels up over Ashe, presses one hand on the collar so that Ashe keeps his head up and his throat bared, and strokes himself with quick, hard strokes of his hand over his cock. “You like watching me?” 

“Yes,” Ashe says, softly. “You’re gorgeous, Yuri.” 

Yuri smiles, tosses his hair a little -- why not, it feels good to know he’s wanted, to hear it with such obvious, naked honesty -- and moans, fucks his own fist until he’s nearly there, intending to come all over the lovely skin of Ashe’s chest. 

Then Ashe says, “Please come on my face, _please,_ ” and that’s it, too much, there’s nothing else Yuri could possibly do but that. He comes all over Ashe’s upturned face with a drawn-out moan, shuddering as he sees Ashe’s pleased little smile, the way his tongue licks out to taste Yuri as his eyes drift closed and his body goes fully relaxed and pliant, arms still crossed, throat still bared. 

Yuri rests back on his heels, breathing hard. He strokes Ashe’s hair, rubs his come into Ashe’s face, slides his fingers into Ashe’s mouth so Ashe can lick them clean. “What a good pet you are,” Yuri breathes, and Ashe smiles with such pleasure it nearly takes Yuri’s breath. 

This might complicate an already complicated situation even more, but Yuri can’t quite find it in himself to mind. 

***

It’s surprisingly cold in the desert at night. Ashe assumed it would stay warm even after dark, the stifling heat baked into every surface by the relentless glare of the sun, but when night falls on the first day of their journey to the Almyran palace, it’s cold enough he’s forced to put on several layers beneath his threadbare jacket. 

His cheeks sting from exposure to the sun and the sand whipped up from the desert floor, so in a way, the crisp evening air is a relief, a balm to soothe his sensitized skin. The temperature also provides him a reason to snuggle up close to Yuri once they set up camp for the night near a stunted tree with spiky, smoke-colored leaves. Not that Ashe needs much of an excuse to want to be near him at this point. After last night and the day at the lake, Ashe has thought of little else _but_ being close to Yuri. 

He’s getting in over his head; he realizes that. Perhaps they both are--or at least they’re certainly pushing the boundaries of their established agreement--but Ashe can’t seem to help himself. It’s addictive, the feelings Yuri inspires in him, how Yuri just seems to _know_ what Ashe needs and when and exactly how to satiate those desires.

Being known is terrifying, but also freeing, comforting to the part of Ashe that longs for the sort of connection that can form only between a dominant and their submissive. It’s not love, no--that’s an altogether different emotion--but it’s a bond all the same. For Ashe, one he thought he’d never come close to again.

It’s been so long since he came anywhere near getting what he needs as a submissive, most of the time Ashe isn’t even sure what he wants himself--or how to ask for it. Every step feels like the first, like painstakingly mapping new terrain. Yet somehow it seems as if Yuri recognizes all the undiscovered places buried deep inside him, as if he’s been there before, and if Ashe is brave enough to trust him, he can be a guide to show Ashe the way.

Ashe would have learned these things with Dedue eventually. They would’ve grown together, experimented, misstepped and course-corrected until finally they found what suited them best. He knows he’s the only submissive Dedue ever considered collaring. But in the years since Dedue’s death, he hasn’t gotten close enough to any dominant to risk the vulnerability that comes hand in hand with offering his submission to another person.

With Yuri, it started as sheer necessity. They must be seen to be familiar with and close to each other for their ruse to work, and Ashe very much needs it to work. To help others, yes, but also for himself. He longs for a place to call home, after having all of his other homes snatched away. He hopes that place can be here. 

Ashe adores his siblings, and misses them dearly, but they have their own lives now. He’d be happy to have them join him in Almyra, in time, should Yuri’s plans come to pass. But, truthfully, his brother and sister would be just fine without him. Ashe won’t be, if he stays in Fódlan. Even if the Emperor isn’t actually looking for him and all of his fear has been nothing more than unfounded paranoia, the Fódlan in Ashe’s mind is built on a foundation of pain, death, and blood. He thinks of his country and remembers the smell of the battlefield, magic and decay, iron and dirt. It’s such a visceral memory he can taste the scent on the back of his tongue, and it makes he want to retch.

No, his fate was decided the moment the Emperor won. 

Aside from his siblings, everything he’s ever loved had been taken from him in Fódlan. His parents, Lonato, Christophe, Dedue. That place isn’t his home anymore. He’ll find another, either in Almyra or beyond. One way or another, he’s not going back.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Yuri says.

Ashe snuggles closer into his side and rests his head on Yuri’s shoulder. For once, he’s not kneeling at Yuri’s feet, but Yuri doesn’t seem to mind. “Everything is quiet,” Ashe replies. 

Stars sparkle in the sky like jewels against dark velvet, and it’s lovely, like being immersed in an ocean of lights, but beyond the crackle of their small fire and the occasional scurrying of a small animal in the underbrush, there’s little to break the silence. They’re far enough away from the caravan they’ve been following that they can’t hear any conversations that might be happening where they’ve circled and arranged their own camp for the night. Yuri didn’t like the idea of sleeping among strangers, and Ashe agreed, so they’d avoided joining the caravan, but there is something to be said about safety in numbers. 

Out here, should anything happen, Yuri and Ashe had no one to rely on but each other. Any number of creatures might be out there, lurking in the shadows or slithering beneath the sand. And of course, there’s the human threat, too, which Ashe is well aware might be the most sinister of them all.

He shivers slightly, his gaze ensnared by the fathomless, encompassing dark beyond the tiny circle of their fire. Anything could approach them from any direction. They’d never know until it was right on top of them.

_There are no ghosts. Nowhere but inside your head._

Yuri rubs his arm and pulls him closer, perhaps mistaking the cause of Ashe’s shiver. Ashe is happy to let Yuri assume he’s cold until Yuri says, “I’ll protect you. You know that, right?”

Ashe lifts his head from Yuri’s shoulder, shifting to look at him. “I can protect myself.”

In the orange glow from the flames, Yuri’s eyes look like burnt umber as they meet his own. “I don’t doubt it, starling. I _want_ to protect you. How’s that?”

“Why?”

“You’re mine,” Yuri says simply. He reaches up, hooks a fingertip into Ashe’s collar. “At least for now. Even if you weren’t, I’d still want to keep you safe. You’re a good guy, Ashe. I wouldn’t allow any harm to come to you if I could help it.”

Ashe shakes his head, but sways in toward Yuri despite himself. “I… You shouldn’t say these kinds of things. I’m not… I told you I--I can’t--”

“I’m not trying to mislead you.” Yuri leans in close, brushes their lips together. “We’re friends, aren’t we? That’s real.”

The leather tightens around Ashe’s throat as Yuri slips another finger underneath the collar, and Ashe whines, needy and desperate, remembering the feel of Yuri’s fingers on his thighs, Yuri’s mouth on his cock. Ashe initiates the kiss this time, and Yuri allows it, encouraging Ashe to deepen the contact with a swipe of his tongue.

Yuri tastes like the tart wyvernfruit they ate after their simple dinner of flatbread and dried meat. His lips are slightly chapped from the wind, but his kiss is hot, tender, and sweet. He slides his hand to Ashe’s nape and squeezes, driving a moan from Ashe’s chest.

Ashe surges toward him, and Yuri falls back against the bedroll with a quiet, huffing laugh. Ashe knows Yuri allowed himself to be toppled over, but he doesn’t care. He swallows the sound of Yuri’s laughter as he chases more of that citrusy flavor. Yuri’s hand stays on his neck as Ashe sprawls on top of him. His thighs part, and Ashe pushes his hips between them, grinding his stiffening cock against the bulge in Yuri’s breeches.

Yuri’s fingers tighten on his nape. “Slowly, starling,” he says against Ashe’s mouth. 

Ashe groans. “Please. Don’t want to go slow.”

Yuri kisses him again. It’s meant to be a gentling kiss, Ashe recognizes that by now, but he doesn’t want to be gentled. Doesn’t want to _settle_. He wants hands on bare skin and hard cocks and he doesn’t want to think about what’s out there in the dark, or if their plan will succeed or fail, or all the myriad things that could go wrong along the way.

Frustrated, Ashe bites sharply at Yuri’s lower lip and ruts against him, hard, seeking friction. He hasn’t been the aggressor any other time they’ve touched like this, and it shows. His movements are clumsy, he’s whimpering, and he’s not quite sure what to do with his hands--he’s gripping Yuri’s shoulders, yanking at his clothes, trying to get at bare skin, to get Yuri to touch him, please, anywhere--but before he can do much more than push up Yuri’s shirt, he’s dragged back a few inches by his collar.

Yuri stares up at him, eyes narrowed. “What do you think you’re doing, little bird? If you want something, ask me for it.”

Ashe swallows thickly, the leather a firm pressure against his windpipe. “I--I’m sorry--I--”

He breaks off when something sharp jabs into his back. “Don’t move, either of you.”

Ashe freezes as Yuri’s gaze cuts over his shoulder. Yuri’s hand releases his collar, gives his neck a reassuring squeeze.

Ashe is not reassured. Not with what he assumes is a sword at his back.

“Don’t bother trying to go for your weapons,” says the person--a man, he guesses by the depth of the voice--behind him. “I have them already. It was easy with you both so distracted.” The tip of the sword digs in a bit deeper, enough so Ashe hisses and tenses at the sting. “You should have known to be wary. Now, what is your business here? We do not trust foreigners who cross our borders uninvited.”

“Really?” Yuri says lightly, as if Ashe still isn’t between his thighs with a weapon at his back. “The border is open. That's invitation enough. Doesn’t your king want to unify our lands? He wishes to promote understanding between our respective peoples, or so I hear. Holding someone at swordpoint seems the opposite of the peace he speaks about.”

“Do not presume to know the wishes of King Khalid. His Majesty would never associate with the likes of you.”

“But we do know him,” Ashe blurts out before Yuri has a chance to respond. “We know him from the time he spent with the Leicester Alliance in Fódlan. We’re here by the invitation of his collared submissive.”

He can tell immediately by Yuri’s expression that he made a mistake, revealed their hand too quickly. Despite everything, a small part of Ashe still believes people are inherently good, and given the chance, will do the right thing. Hadn’t his own personal experiences proven him wrong, time and time again?

Ashe bows his head, shame unfurling in his gut, but Yuri’s hand stays firm at his neck, his fingertips gently brushing Ashe’s skin, offering comfort.

The sword eases for a second, then presses in hard once again. “So you claim. You have no proof.”

“Move your sword and stand down,” Yuri says, voice deadly soft. “Your threat to my submissive is a threat to me. And I don’t take kindly to threats.”

The sword wavers again, then pokes hard enough Ashe cries out in pain. “I’m giving the orders here. Kneel. Both of you.”

Yuri gives Ashe a slight nod, so he obeys, slowly shifting to his knees. He risks a sideways glance at the man, but most of his face is in shadow. Only the gleam of his sword--a different style of blade from the ones Ashe is familiar with--is clearly visible in the firelight.

“Hands behind your back, and do not move. Tomorrow, we’ll go to King Khalid. We’ll see what he makes of your lies.”

“Just play along for now,” Yuri whispers under his breath as he kneels next to Ashe, and the man moves behind them both.

Ashe acknowledges his words with a dip of his chin.

In moments he feels rope being wound around his wrists. Ashe licks his dry lips and keeps his limbs loose and limber. The urge to fight is an incessant impulse, flowing down his arms to the hands he uses to hold his bow and nock his arrows. It’s as instinctive as his own biological predisposition to submit to a powerful dominant, but brawling was never one of Ashe’s skills, and his knife is in his left boot, out of reach. He can’t risk doing something that could endanger them both, not with the other man holding a sword, ready to strike, and their other weapons somewhere in the darkness.

Once he’s bound both their wrists, the man orders them to sit back against the tree and ties their ankles, too. It’s only then Ashe gets a good look at his face. He’s handsome--and young. Uncollared. Ashe isn’t sure if they do that here in Almyra. Obviously Claude did, but he’d spent time in Fódlan also--and it’s where Felix is from. It might not be a common practice here, but still, Ashe gets the sense this man is a submissive. He’s dressed in a long jacket, leather breeches, tall riding boots, and a green and gold tunic. A similarly patterned scarf is wrapped around his hair, and a gold hoop earring glints at his left earlobe.

The clothing looks expensive--and if Ashe isn’t mistaken, there’s an insignia on his jacket--a wyvern in flight.

_A wyvern…_

This man must have one tethered nearby. Perhaps he’d been flying overhead and spotted the glow of their fire. In the darkness, it would’ve stood out like a beacon. 

Ashe had been classed as a wyvern rider by Professor Byleth back at Garreg Mach. He’d fought most of his battles on wyvernback. It’s been years since he’s ridden one of the animals, but he still remembers how.

He waits next to Yuri as the man moves around them, digging through their belongings and muttering to himself in a language that must be Almyran. Ashe doesn’t understand it in any case, but it doesn’t matter. All he needs is for this man to fall asleep, and he can put his plan into motion.

It doesn’t take very long. The man seems satisfied Yuri and Ashe won’t be moving from where he left them. He sets out his own bedroll near the fire, his curved sword close at hand, and it’s maybe only minutes later that he’s snoring, lost in the dreams of the overconfident. 

Ashe waits a little while, just in case, but the man seems out for the night.

_Good._

Ashe has his hands free in moments, and as he goes to undo his ankles so he can see to Yuri, he notices Yuri is already a step ahead of him.

Ashe stands, holding a length of rope in his hands. He looks to Yuri, who nods and gestures for Ashe to approach the man’s feet while Yuri approaches his head.

The man wakes up in the middle of them trussing him up, and Yuri slaps a hand over his mouth to muffle his shout.

Ashe retrieves the sharp little knife from his boot and presses it to the man’s throat. It’s not completely necessary, but he can feel stickiness on his back from where the man’s sword cut him, and he’s just angry enough to be inclined toward a bit of revenge. “Where is your wyvern?” Ashe asks.

The man goes completely still, then shakes his head frantically.

Ashe presses the tip of the knife a bit deeper. “Tell us now and we’ll leave your sword behind so you to cut yourself out of these ropes… if you’re clever enough to figure out how.”

The man jerks his chin to the left and mutters something under Yuri’s hand.

Ashe doesn’t care what else he might have to say. He stands and hears Yuri say, “Nighty night, friend,” followed by a dull thud. The hilt of the sword striking the man’s temple, no doubt. Ashe doesn’t bother checking. He’s certain Yuri wouldn’t have hit him hard enough to do any _serious_ injury. Yuri isn’t the type to maim or murder indescriminately.

Together, they gather their belongings, find their weapons, and because they’re both men of their word, they leave the sword within arm’s reach of the man’s unconscious form. They hadn’t bound him very tightly--some wriggling will have him free, as he’ll discover quickly enough. Ashe isn’t about to leave someone bound to helplessly roast in the desert sun. But by the time the man wakes up, they’ll be long gone.

Ashe leads the way to the wyvern, who snorts and side-steps, flapping its wings when Ashe approaches.

“There now,” Ashe says, gently. “Easy. We won’t hurt you.”

He approaches, hand extended, palm down and fingers curled inward, letting the wyvern sniff him.

“You know what you’re doing with one of these things?” Yuri asks softly from behind him.

“Yes,” Ashe replies in the same soothing tone, so as not to startle the wyvern. “I rode plenty of them at Garreg Mach. I can handle one with both of us astride, don’t worry.”

“I won’t. I can’t say I’m fond of heights, but I trust you.”

Ashe turns to him. This far from the fire, he can barely make out Yuri’s face, but Yuri’s confidence in him eases the last bit of tension lingering inside him. He can do this. He can get them to the palace safely. “I trust you, too.”

Yuri steps closer. Ashe feels his body heat against his back and the soft brush of a kiss at the top of his spine, just below his collar. “I’m glad, starling. Now, let’s get out of here, huh?”

Ashe nods, and reaches out to stroke a hand along the wyvern’s snout. “What do you think, buddy? Up for giving us a ride?”

The wyvern doesn’t shy away from his touch, so Ashe takes it as a yes.

He hangs their bags from the saddle, untethers the reins from the tree, and mounts the wyvern perhaps slightly less smoothly than he used to after years out of practice. He gives the animal a few seconds to adjust to his weight, then pulls Yuri up behind him. 

“I think that man was a royal guard,” Ashe says. “If so, I bet our friend here knows the way home.”

Yuri’s arms wrap around his waist. “We’ll see if you’re right. Let’s go.”

Ashe clicks his tongue and flicks the reins, encouraging the wyvern to take flight. 


End file.
